#brown pantsuit

[addictedbespoke]

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[bevioletskies]

gmmtv + character fashion ↳ milk pansa as "ink" in bad buddy (2021)

[freeby]

Wishing all of you the Merriest Christmas and happiest holidays! :)

[aretis]

She is a Lady🤍🤍🤍

[alyssasoutfitdiary]

2022 11 21 Monday

What I am wearing today to the office.

I have a few Thanksgiving dresses, and I wanted to wear one today. This afternoon will be warmer than it's been the past week or so, but it is soooo cold this morning. I'm going to go with a brown pantsuit instead. I have a brown sweater that is more fall than Thanksgiving, so I'll wear that, and do a one color look. I think the all-brown highlights the blond in my hair.

My outfit details:

Weather: Mid 40s, sunny ☀️

Hair down

Acorn dangle earrings: Kohl's

Brown sweater: The Ugly Sweater Shop

Chocolate brown blazer: Ann Taylor

Chocolate brown dress pants: Ann Taylor

Acorn/leaf necklace: Kohl's

Brown watch: Target

Brown leather belt: Falari

Brown purse: Target

Brown boots: DSW

Brown coat: Kohl's

[beatriceportinari]

guy looming like swiss don draper in front of me in the train thia morning very scary

[kisses4reid]

understand? pt. 2 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you’re a polyglot translator assigned to work for the bau in a cross-national case, and there’s an officer who’s less than friendly.

genre - angst, fluff, good ending, fem!reader, both of them are awkward nerds, they both dig each other’s intelligence

warnings - mild racism, basic cm file details, so many inaccuracies regarding translating, languages, and crimes, no where do i specify which language r is translating because i don’t want to include wrong translations, please let me know if i need to add anything

w/c - guys idk count the words yourself

a/n - part 2!! if i didn’t add you to the taglist i apologise pookie.

part 1 (must read first!)

Spencer called Morgan and you into a small interrogation room that was being used as a temporary evidence locker. Books and documents were strewn across the room, Spencer had one opened in his hands, one finger dragging down a page.

“What’s up, Reid?” Morgan asked, eyes scanning the messy room. You bent down and picked up a book that seemed to be a diary, and inside was the sole reason you had been assigned to work the case.

“The diaries kept by the mother are all in english, so I’ll go over these, the rest are in a foreign language that L/n can go over.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, “And me?”

“Oh, I was wondering if you could make me a coffee?”

Morgan scoffed and walked away.

You settled on the floor criss cross style, noticing the diaries had been organised in order of when they were written. At least 40 diaries had been filled, and you wondered how someone would have that much time to fill these out. Spencer watched you as you read the accounts written on the pages, but had to rip his eyes off of you once again if he wanted anything to be done.

His stack was much higher, that only becoming apparent to you after you took the courage to look at him.

“How are you going to read all of that?” You asked, cutting the silence like a knife. He looked around him and smiled slightly.

“I can read pretty fast,

“Oh, wow. That’s impressive. Are you a genius or something?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Oh.” You smiled tightly, grabbing the small notebook from your back pocket to start writing important details in english. He gulps, barely audible and squeezes his eyes in courage to talk again.

“Do you like reading?”

You lifted your head again and nodded, “I like sci-fi, maybe with some romance.”

He nodded and smiled, before clearing his throat and saying what he truly wanted to say this whole time, “I think you might have to keep distance from Sheriff Stevens.”

Your gaze flickered up at his brown eyes, swirls bringing you in like an optical illusion made for hypnotism. You shrugged and put on a reassuring smile, “It’ll be fine. He probably just didn’t expect me to be here, I’m not a part of your team so.”

“You’re a part of it now. At least for this case.” Spencer said softly, going back to dragging one finger down the scribbles in the book.

His words warmed your heart and your cheeks, causing you to look down after he did to hide the pink painted against your faded freckles. Suddenly, Agent Hotchner appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat - maybe he felt the same tension you did.

You stood up immediately, patting down your pantsuit trousers, Spencer’s eyes latched onto your hands.

“We need you both at the tip line immediately, they’ve called us.”

“They?” Spencer stands and follows Hotch out the room and into a smaller office with only a desk and phone in it, and that same sheriff from before.

You trail behind them, eyebrows furrowed before you realise the situation.

“The Unsubs. Y/n, we need you here to translate and scribe, I’ll be talking and if they end up speaking their first language,” Hotch pierced his gaze to yours, “you’ll be speaking.”

Your eyes widened, glancing between Spencer and Hotch, raising your hands in your own defence, “Oh, no. I don’t know how to- I don’t even know what to say-“

Hotch hovered a hand over your shoulder and nodded, “We’ll tell you what to say. All you need to do is what you do best, and listen.”

The sheriff lifted himself to where he was leaning on a wall and crossed his arms over his uniformed chest. He stared at you and then at Agent Hotchner. “This is who you’re trusting classified information with? Someone from the country we’re going against?”

Emily and Morgan entered the room then, closing the door, both of them nearly shivering at the sudden gloominess of the room - not that making contact with criminals was all sunshine and rainbows.

“Excuse me?” Hotch raises an eyebrow and puffs his chest out.

“I’m not from that country, sir, I simply understand the language.” You defend yourself as Spencer moves closer to you, shoulder to shoulder. Hotch moves away slightly, obviously thinking that was the end of that misunderstanding, but the sheriff speaks over any orders the SSA Chief.

“That’s what you want us to think. I saw how you scoped out the office, not to mention you look exactly like those people. How can we guarantee this girl doesn’t tell us lies? How can we guarantee she doesn’t tell them the truth?” His face was turning red and he had started moving towards you, before Spencer put out an arm in front of you and positioned you behind him.

“Agent L/n is a trained translator and has been for more years than you’ve been a sheriff. If you want any chance to find the kidnapped girls, you need to get over your ego. Maybe if you actually listened to her and let her do her job, you’d realise how stupid you are.”

The sheriff stood in shock, so did you. Your neck reddened and you took a step back, Spencer’s cologne overwhelming you. Morgan grabbed the man by the arm and forced him out of the room.

It was silent only for a second before Emily started, “Well, now that we’ve gotten him out of the way. Why don’t we take this call?”

They spoke english for a large portion of the call, but there were other people on their side who were speaking another language in the background that you got to work on translating. The call abruptly ended, and everyone’s shoulders slumped, the call was nearly useless. Hotch glanced at you and you took that as an invitation to begin reciting what they were saying.

As you went down the list of phrases, you paused and looked up to the BAU team.

“There’s a foreigner working with them.” Spencer furrowed his brows which caused you to explain quickly, “One of them had a strong english accent, and only chimed in a couple times. He was telling the caller what to say… I think.”

Hotch nodded and lead the team away from the room with the phone and into the room with the bulletin boards full of crime scene photos and maps. Spencer stood behind you slightly, and when your temporary boss started explaining the situation to the still-red sheriff, he turned your shoulder to face him. You searched his face confused before he spoke up,

“You should be more confident. Don’t say ‘I think’ at the end. You’re the only one who knows you’re right - plus me.”

You smiled and nodded. Spencer scanned the room, only to make eye contact with a smirk-faced Morgan.

Spencer conversed with Hotch after the sheriff went off to do who knows what, and Hotch agreed that he shouldn’t be left with you at any point in the case.

After 10 more hours of translating, driving, and analysing, the case had been closed and now you were back on the plane. The uncle of the girls had hired the kidnappers, wanting money from the parents that he felt was stolen from him when his parents died and his brother got most in the will.

This time, you took an empty seat at the back, not feeling like hovering for the full plane ride like last time. Your legs hurt, your social battery drained and your was energy at its lowest, and yet when Spencer took the seat in front of you, you felt a rush course through your body.

His cologne was back, and he held two books in his big hands. Tucking a short strand of hair behind his ear, he cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly,

“Hi, Y/n.” Your first name, not your last, and not Agent L/n. Your first name.

“Hi, Spencer.” His first name, not his last, and not Agent Reid. His first name.

He gulped, eyes darting from your face to the books on the table between you. “I brought you a book from my library I thought you’d like.”

Your eyes widened and you smiled, looking down at the blue covered book he held out. In your hands the book was still warm with his touch as you let your fingers trail the title and authors name.

“Well, I don’t actually know if you’ll like it. But you said you like sci-fi romance so- And I know you can speak that language so.” He rambled and you giggled smally, causing him to pause and stare at you in awe.

“Thank you, Spencer. This is actually the second language I ever learnt, I learnt it from my grandmother.” You told him, opening the book to a random page and smiling at the language printed on the off-yellow paper.

Spencer heart swelled, and it felt foreign. You had told him a piece of you, a tiny piece, but it felt like enough confirmation that you didn’t think he was weird, or too nerdy, or not outgoing enough.

“I’m glad.” He whispered, eyes scanning your face like it was the last time he would see you. It worried him slightly. “Do you want to um… go somewhere?”

“Like in general?” You titled your head.

He laughed slightly, “No, no. I mean like, with me?”

You cheeks reddened immediately and you unconsciously held a hand up to your face to hide your flustered expression. You took a breath and nodded, “Yes, I’ll go somewhere with you.”

perm taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

taglist - @0108s22m @aurorsworld @gghostwriter @khxna @reeseisinapiece @bibissparkles @pinkpantheris @theognatster @webbluvrkleo @sneak-fic @jiuseoks @geepinky @darling006 @adissonsss @iniyalovesall @danilewis @radiantdanvers @bibiznbyler @butternutter6779

[pearlprincess02]

style guide: ARIES EDITION

ARIES RISING

rihanna - jupiter in 1st house, james dean - uranus & chiron & north node in 1st house, kendall jenner, miuccia prada - sun & north node in 1st house, barbra streisand - sun & mercury in 1st house, penélope cruz - sun & mercury in 1st house, cardi b - moon in 1st house, sophie turner - moon & venus & part of fortune in 1st house, amber rose - moon & juno in 1st house, nikki reed, shakira - chiron in 1st house, stevie nicks - north node in 1st house, vinnie hacker - ceres in 1st house,

style aesthetic: bold & dramatic, leather chic, modern minimalism, rockstar vibes, athleisure luxe, metallic accents, animal prints, vintage with a twist, unexpected mixes, sunglasses as statement pieces, red, orange, and black

ARIES VENUS

marilyn monroe - venus in 9th house, audrey hepburn - venus in 1st house, elizabeth taylor - venus in 4th house, mariah carey - venus in 12th house, lady gaga - venus in 11th house, gigi hadid - venus in 12th house, rihanna - venus in 12th house, jennifer aniston - venus in 6th house, shakira - venus in 12th house, cristiano ronaldo - venus in 3rd house, gigi hadid - venus in 12th house, keira knightley - (unknown), cate blanchett - venus in 11th house, melanie martinez - venus in 5th house, tyler, the creator - venus in 9th house, sarah jessica parker - venus in 11th house, eva longoria - venus in 5th house, janet jackson - venus in 5th house, millie bobby brown - venus in 8th house, suga - (unknown), sarah michelle gellar - (unknown), madison beer - venus in 11th house, helena bonham carter - (unknown), gal gadot - (unknown), emma chamberlain - venus in 3rd house,

style aesthetic: confident & playful, bold & romantic, leather with lace, athletic luxe, fiercely feminine, metallic accents, graphic prints, tailored pantsuits, bold blazers, vintage with a modern twist, bold jewelry, statement sunglasses, and eye-catching hats, gold, silver, red, orange, and hot pink!

ARIES MIDHEAVEN

tyra banks - moon & mars & chiron in 10th house, kayne west - venus & mars & chiron & part of fortune in 10th house, angelina jolie - jupiter & chiron & ceres in 10th house, céline dion - moon & mars & saturn & north node in 10th house, cameron diaz - chiron in 10th house, julia roberts - north node & lilith in 10th house, sharon tate, meghan markle, the weeknd - pallas & part of fortune in 10th house, jessica lange - sun & mercury & venus & mars & north node & part of fortune in 10th house, jennette mccurdy - moon & mars & juno in 10th house, danielle fishel - sun & mercury & venus & mars & chiron in 10th house, kate moss - mars & chiron in 10th house, cindy crawford,

style aesthetic: tailored suits, sharp blazers, crisp shirts, bold statement necklace, a brightly colored pocket square, a unique pair of shoes, bold eyewear, orange, black, white, grey, red power suit, a red statement scarf, and red accents

VENUS IN 1ST HOUSE

selena gomez - venus in leo, elizabeth II - venus in pisces, kourtney kardashian - venus in pisces, beyoncé - venus in libra, katy perry - venus in sagittarius, zayn malik - venus in pisces, angelina jolie - venus in cancer, cameron diaz - venus in cancer, nabilla benattia - venus in capricorn, audrey hepburn - venus in aries, blake lively - venus in virgo, anna nicole smith - venus in libra, avril lavigne - venus in scorpio, jude law - venus in sagittarius , rachel mcadams - venus in scoprio, halsey - venus in scoprio, doja cat - venus in scorpio, priyanka chopra - venus in gemini, olivia rodrigo - venus in capricorn, nina dobrev - venus in sagittarius, madison bailey - venus in pisces, damiano david - venus in aquarius, maggie lindemann - venus in cancer, elle fanning - venus in pisces, olivia holt - venus in virgo, mina - venus in aries, sophie turner - venus in aries, isaac mizrah - venus in virgo,

style aesthetic: flowy fabrics, pastel colors, silk fabrics statement jewelry, natural textures, well-fitting clothes, minimal makeup, unique color combinations, unexpected layering, vintage pieces, bold statement piece, a head-to-toe monochromatic look, eye-catching earrings, handcrafted pieces, unique materials, a touch of lace, soft pinks, baby blues, lavenders

NEPTUNE IN 1ST HOUSE

kim kardashian - neptune in sagittarius, paris hilton - neptune in sagittarius, kylie jenner - neptune in capricorn, ariana grande - neptune in capricorn (conj. asc), scarlett johansson - neptune in capricorn, eminem - neptune in sagittarius (conj. asc), nicole kidman - neptune in scorpio, marilyn monroe - neptune in leo (opp. moon), damiano david - neptune in aquarius (conj. venus & tri. moon), björk - neptune in scorpio (conj. asc), nelly furtado - neptune in sagittarius (conj. asc), perrie edwards - neptune in capricorn (conj. asc), dave franco - neptune in capricorn (conj. asc), river phoenix - neptune in scorpio (opp. moon), lil peep - neptune in capricorn (opp. moon), lorde - neptun in capricorn (tri. moon), sofia richie - neptune in capricorn (tri. moon),

makeup style: dreamy & ethereal, soft washes of color, shimmery textures,  makeup uses cool tones, metallics, glitter, glowing skin, lightweight foundations, highlighter for a natural glow, graphic eyeliner designs, whimsical lashes, soft & natural lips, smoky eyes with a twist, smoky purples, teals, touch of silver, lavender, muted purples, blues, greens soft pinks, peaches

@pearlprincess02

[euphoriaslux]

we can’t be friends

summary: you hate vincent. vincent hates you. and yet somehow you end up in his bedroom.

word count: 4262( i… am so sorry.)

warnings: fem reader, smut(f oral receiving) vincent being a meanie, drinking and smoking, disrespect of the french justice system (désolé) me making head canons about vincent’s family life, some mischaracterization of sandra (ily sandra huller)

a/n: folks i was locked in when i was writing this, can you tell because it’s autocapitalized? i was Serious! this was supposed to be like a thousand words and ended up being 4k… i apologize i have to spread my illness (being my obsession with swann). i had SO much fun writing this i hope yall enjoy, all the reblogs on my first post make me all warm and fuzzy. drop some requests if you’d like, and im going to make a masterpost of all the fictional characters im obsessed with bc i’m chronically online. i’ve reread this like a million times so if there are any spelling errors i simply do not see. enjoy!!! <3

You cannot fucking believe you’re going to be late to trial.

Well, actually, you can believe it. Somehow, during the two hours of sleep you got last night, you managed to unplug both your alarm clock and your phone charger, leaving you to blissfully sleep through the multiple alarms you had set the night before. It was only when your cat sprawled across your face, her paws tickling your eyelashes as she eagerly awaited her breakfast, that your body decided to wake you up. An hour after you were supposed to.

Your methodically planned out morning routine for the indictment today was quickly replaced by you sprinting around your apartment muttering curse words under your breath and trying not to trip over the copious amounts of documents on your floor. You nearly cried when your tangled hair would not cooperate with you, but somehow managed to make yourself look halfway presentable. You didn’t have the time to be stressed today, especially because of the attention you know this case is going to get.

And because you knew you were going to see him.

After driving like a bat out of hell in the Parisian rain, violating multiple traffic laws, you somehow make it to the courthouse only one minute late. Jogging up the steps, you push the door open and yell out apologies to the bewildered lawyers and judges in the courthouse as you sprint against the browned hardwood floor, your briefcase thumping against your side in tandem with your heartbeat. Your eyes scan the chamber numbers and you breathe a sigh of relief once you find the one that matched the summons notice, pausing to smooth down your pantsuit set and pat the beads of sweat off of your forehead.

You push open the chamber doors as gently as you can, but you quickly realize there is no use as every head in the room turns towards you, gawking at you. Some have a slight frown on their face, looking at you with thinly veiled pity, but most have a clear show of annoyance. With your head down you speedwalk over to your team’s side of the chambers, pulling out a few labeled folders before you place your briefcase next to your seat. You take a deep breath and force yourself to look up, and right across from you is the defendant’s lawyer.

Vincent is wearing a black turtleneck and a matching black blazer, with effortlessly swooped gray hair and his arms crossed over his chest. He looks perfect, too perfect, in a way that pisses you off. He’s already staring at you when you glance at him, his mouth slightly turned upward as he leans over to talk to his client Sandra, maintining eye contact with you as his whispers in her ear.

“Glad you made time to join us Mademoiselle,” the judge says as she shuffles some papers around, using a few fingers to wave over a magistrate to her right, ostensibly for the indictment sheets.

“I am so, so sorry I-” you start before the judge moves her hand to wave you off, finally sparing you a sharp glance.

“Enough time has been wasted. Let us proceed, yes?” she asks, and you almost start to answer before you realize it was rhetorical. There are a few quiet laughs in the courtroom and you fix your eyes on your folder, feeling like a child who was just scolded in class for sneaking a cookie from the lunchroom. You feel Vincent’s eyes on you but you don’t dare to look up. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Sandra was indicted, of course. This case was going to be a media circus because of her literary career, and you knew this was not going to be an open-and-shut case. Part of you hated trials like these - when the media would decide an angle that they found the most titillating and not leave a single person involved alone until they got a headline that matched their narrative. Another part of you, a massive part of you, hated working with Vincent. You could just constantly feel the smugness dripping off of him, and with every snarky comment and reply you could sense the anger just drilling deeper and deeper into you. Each interaction you had with him managed to make you even more and more mad. At least you’d hopefully only see him for another couple of months.

five months later

Like clockwork, you stepped out of your taxi to be bombarded by reporters with an endless sea of microphones and cameras, a cacophony of aggressive voices yelling your way. You keep your head down and try to push through the crowd, noticing Vincent talking to a reporter with Sandra to his side. You hear a few words, noticeably about Sandra’s innocence and the ignorance of the defense, and that word makes you stop in your tracks. Reporters are asking you questions but you look for the first microphone you can find and start to talk, making sure to project your voice.

“Judicial integrity is what’s most important to me. Not a narrative, not a story. I took an oath to protect this country. Some people don’t take that seriously, but I do, and that’s what I am focused on.”

There is a sea of follow-up questions but you weave through the hoard of people to the top steps of the courtroom, making your way inside. You arrived a bit early to trial today because you knew Daniel, Sandra’s son, was testifying today. You couldn’t shake the unease you’d had all week knowing you had to cross-examine him, seeing his grief-stricken face as he heard the prosecution and defense make a myriad of accusations about the one parent he had left.

“Were you talking about me?”

Vincent’s voice makes you jump, and you turn around to see him staring at you from behind the court pew. You must’ve had a look of confusion on your face because he then clarifies:

“Outside, when you were talking to the reporter from Euronews. Are you implying that I don’t have judicial integrity?” he cocks his head at you, his eyebrows slightly raised. You shrug, grabbing the manila folders with notes from your bag and putting them in front of your seat.

“If the shoe fits, I suppose,” you say with a tight smile as you sling your bag from your shoulder to under your chair. Vincent scoffs, lightly brushing his hair out of his face.

“Right, I should have looked to the attorney who walks in late smelling like cheap wine for… integrity,” he emphasizes that last word, each letter feeling incredibly loud in the silent courtroom. You feel the heat rise from the back of your neck, both in embarrassment and fury. You take a step towards him and he doesn’t move, your faces only a few inches apart.

“Do you think you’re any better? You took this case because you are plagued with this superiority complex that you have to subject everyone to.”

“Hm, so being a good lawyer makes you think I have a superiority complex, good to know,” Vincent says, touching his chin in mock curiosity. Jesus Christ, this guy irritates you.

“No actually, I think I figured it out,” you say with a laugh, poking your finger at his chest.

“Is it because you used to fuck Sandra, and this is some weird fucked up sort of foreplay that you’re forcing us to watch? I wonder if there’s a tape in evidence, of Sandra telling her now-dead husband how many times you two had shitty sex.”

Your sentence sits in the air as the smirk falls from Vincent’s face.

“Do not project whatever bullshit you’ve created in your mind onto me,” he says, staring at you with an intensity that makes you start to squirm.

“You don’t know me, Vincent,” you turn to end the conversation but Vincent grabs your arm, turning you back around to look at him.

“But I think I do,” he says, and you are so close that you can make out the pack of cigarettes in his jean pocket through his cloak is what’s pressing against your thigh.

“I think you put on this show, that you are meek and timid, but it is all an act. Every movement of yours is calculated. Nothing you do has any underpinning of integrity.”

You feel tears well in your eyes and you quickly wipe them away, opening your mouth to speak as the chamber doors open and members of the jury begin to walk in.

“Fuck you,” you tear your arm away from his grip and walk back to your seat.

four months later

It’s been two weeks since the trial ended. The chaotic hustle and attention has died and reporters are gone, with no more requests for comment or interviews on morning TV filling up your inbox. You were called to the courthouse to go over some documentation that the court needed to provide a final report on the case, arriving late on a Saturday night. You shudder as you get out of the taxi, the chill of Paris air sparing no part of your body. You wrap your jacket around yourself and sit on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath as you prepare to go into that same courtroom. You put your head in your hands and sit in silence for what feels like forever until a familiar voice breaks the stillness.

“Hey.”

You don’t move a muscle when you hear Vincent’s voice, hoping that somehow if you stayed completely still he’d believe you were a figment of his imagination and he’d leave you alone. Instead, he takes a seat next to you, the corduroy fabric of his trousers very gently grazing your skirt.

“If you’ve come to gloat, I’m truly not in the mood,” your say, your voice muffled by your hands over your mouth. Vincent says nothing but you hear him rustling through his pants and then the familiar click of a lighter, and you bring your face up to see Vincent taking a drag of a cigarette. He breathes out wafts of smoke, and after a beat, extends his hand towards you. You glance down at the cigarette and then back at him, and he is still looking forward at the architecture across from you. Plucking the cigarette from between his fingers you inhale deeply, tilting your head up to blow the smoke into the sky. You both sit in the quiet for a few moments as you smoke about half of the cigarette. He doesn’t seem to mind, or at least doesn’t say anything.

“How do you feel?” he finally asks, and you chuckle as you take another inhale.

“How do you think I feel?” you look to him and he nods, taking the cigarette from you. You try and ignore the tingly feeling in your stomach when his lips touch the same part of the cigarette that yours did, with no hesitation.

“Did you genuinely believe she was guilty?”

The question throws you off guard.

“I don’t know.” you answer honestly, bringing your knees up to rest your hands on top of them.

“I don’t often think anything is too personal in a court of law, but that phone call with Sandra and Samuel felt, invasive?”

“It didn’t seem like you had any qualms when you were questioning about it,” he questions.

“Well of course not. I wanted to win.”

Vincent laughs, a real deep laugh, and you can’t help but crack a small smile at the noise. You realize you hadn’t heard it before, at least not before it preceded an insult hurled your way.

“What do you mean, invasive?”

It’s hard to collect your thoughts on his question, and you are suddenly transported back into that courtroom, listening to that call.

“It was like I felt every molecule of anger, resentment, disappointment. I just felt like I was right there in the middle, taking both of their punches. Like,” you take a beat, trying to formulate your words.

“Like I was their son, with no vision of what was happening but so desperately aware of the anger in the air. And feeling guilty that I caused it, somehow.”

Vincent hums.

“I’m sorry with how often I pried, about you and Sandra,” your voice is quiet, and you pick at the straps of your heels.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. The feelings I have for her have changed.”

This time you hum, unsure of what to say. For the first time in your years of knowing him, you feel bad about possibly making Vincent uncomfortable. You’re not sure why. You sit in awkward silence for a couple of minutes before you stand up, brushing the stray tufts of cigarette ash that stuck to your skirt.

“Well, I won’t keep you, I have to go turn in evidence of my defeat” you gesture towards the papers in your hands. “And you have to go celebrate, I presume.”

Vincent stands up as well, flicking the cigarette onto the floor and stomping it out with his boot.

“No celebrating for me,” he says with his hands raised. You smile, and he does the same.

“How will you be … coping?” he asks and you roll your eyes.

“Not sure, probably at home with a really cheap bottle of wine.”

His lips purse as he puts his hands into his pockets. “I guess I deserve that.”

You rock slightly on your balls and feet, not sure if you should walk away from him or not. You’re just about to step out of his way when he starts talking.

“I have a nice Pinot Grigio I’ve been waiting to open, if you’d, you know, like to … join,” Vincent’s voice gets quieter as he keeps talking, and you swear you can see a soft pink hue on his cheeks, but perhaps that was the night playing tricks on you.

“I don’t want to impose-”

“You wouldn’t be,” he cuts you off. “I’ll wait for you out here?”

-

Vincent’s house - not apartment - was somehow exactly and nothing like what you would have imagined. It’s a one-story Victorian-style home with a dark exterior, but the inside is painted a warm yellow with tons of books littering the floors and walls and miscellanous trinkets and birthday cards tucked in between. There’s empty pizza boxes and wine bottles on the kitchen floor, and through his tall back window you can see a mini garden in his backyard, with vines of tomatoes and bushels of leafy greens sprawled amongst the grass. It looks very lived in - you can imagine Vincent waltzing around in the morning, reading his big law books with big glasses of wine, like the one you have in your hand right now.

The two of you are currently halfway deep into a bottle, talking about nothing and everything. The case, bad clients you’ve had before, your favorite pastry shops in Paris, the funny face that one of the Magistrates makes every time the Judge looked at him.

“Thank you for the wine monsieur,” you say with a dip of your head and an exaggerated bow.

Vincent shakes his head before taking a sip of wine, and you notice how the soft pink you thought you had noticed before has turned into a deep red from his forehead to his chest. Vincent being tipsy was such an odd thought to you that you couldn’t control your laughter, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you started to giggle incessantly.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Vincent giggles alongside you, and you shake your head no.

“The serious, smart lawyer is wine-drunk with the person he probably hates the most. I could not have imagined ever being in this situation,” you manage to collect yourself, putting your hand over your chest as you take the final sip in your glass and wave off Vincent as he motions to pour you another one.

“I don’t hate you,” Vincent mutters as he pours himself another glass of wine.

“You’re pretty good at acting like you do.”

He just nods. Suddenly the air in the room has changed, and it feels constricting. Like all of the arguments and venomous insults you’ve thrown at each other has coagulated in this massive living room

“I actually, um, envy you a lot of the time.”

“Envy me?” you can’t help your incredulous tone after his sentence. “You don’t have to say things to pity me, you know,” you laugh, but Vincent’s face is still serious.

“You are just naturally someone people want to spend time with. Even when you annoy me beyond belief, some part of me is always, drawn to you, I suppose. And I envy that. I don’t really know who I am without doing things for others.

You furrow your brows at his sentence. “What do you mean?” you lean over your chair to be a bit closer to him. He plays with the silver ring on his index finger.

“Sometimes I feel like the people I’ve loved, only want me when I can do something for them, you know? I mean, even my own mother, I remember- ” he stops to take a large sip of wine.

“I was almost done with primary school, and my Dad was gone on some inane business trip. I told her I wanted to go to a birthday party downtown, and that I wouldn’t be able to make dinner that night. She got so mad at me that she threw the bottle of wine she’d nearly finished at my head.” He swirls his wine glass around staring into it.

You put your hand on top of his, and he looks up at you, staring into your eyes before clasping his hand arond yours.

“I’m really sorry,” you whisper. He shrugs, and before you can stop yourself, you bring his hand up to your mouth and press a featherlike kiss against his skin. Vincent’s eyes are glassy, and he separates his fingers from yours to place his hand against your face, his thumb gently caressing your jaw.

“Do you have more cigarettes?” you ask, softening into his touch.

“In my bedroom.”

His statement - his ask - reverberates through your head as you both stare at each other, trying to discern what will happen next. Your thoughts are so loud that you’ve afraid that somehow they’ll extend out into the room.

is he saying what i think he is?

And normally, you would say a snarky remark about how he wishes he could get you in his bedroom, and how you’d rather die than see where he sleeps, but the wine has made you slightly woozy and all you can think about is how good he looks with his hair gently sticking to his face and his t-shirt tight around his arms, and what it would feel like to fuck him.

So you say “okay”, and leave your phone on the dining room table.

Vincent opens his bedroom door, moving to let you walk in first before closing the door behind him. He opens his mouth to speak and before you can think your mouth is on his, and he’s shocked for a moment before he kisses you back, your lips melding together. You push your body into his as Vincent wraps his arms around your waist, his hands digging into your skin as he quietly moans into your mouth. Your intertwined bodies make it to the bed and he hovers on top of you, his hard cock pressing against your thigh and you reach down to touch him over his jeans, feeling him shudder against you. You pull away from him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” his voice is a little hoarser than it was before. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” you pull your shirt over your head and tug at the bottom of his and he laughs he does the same, and you admire his shirtless body as he reaches back down to kiss you again, but he’s not as gentle this time. He’s aggressive, dipping his tongue into your mouth and holding your face in his hands.

“So beautiful”, he murmurs, tilting your head so he can suck on your neck and graze his teeth against the bruises spot he left. “So much more beautiful than I imagined”.

Your head falls back on the pillow as you feel his hands reach behind your back and unclip the hooks on your bra, his mouth moving to your breasts and licking your nipples.

“You’ve imagined me?” you pretend to be bashful as your mouth falls into an o-shape, feeling Vincent’s mouth on your chest and his hands on . He moans and you can feel it throughout your whole body as you lean down to shimmy out of your skirt and underwear in one move.

“In every way possible,” he says as he dips a finger down, past your belly button and into your cunt. You’d feel embarrassed at how wet you are already if his hand didn’t feel so good inside of you.

“I’ve thought about what you would taste like, how you would sound when I first fuck you for the first time,” his mouth moves down from your chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your abdomen before he’s just above your heat and you sigh, involuntarily jerking your hips up. He puts his free hand around your lower stomach to hold you in place.

“But nothing,” he nips at the spot right in the crease of your hip, licking a long stripe just next to your heat.

“Could’ve come close to how pretty you really are.”

“Christ,” your hands grab fistfuls of Vincent’s sheets as his tongue finally swirls around your clit, pressing just a bit harder as he puts another finger inside of you. You can feel the pressure building in your lower stomach as you and Vincent’s grip on your stomach get firmer as you wriggle under his touch. He groans into your mouth as you start to grind your hips into him, fucking you faster with his fingers as he rolls his hips into the bed.

“Vincent,” you say with a gasp and grip his hair, pulling as you come around his mouth, your head dizzy with the feeling of Vincent’s tongue on you as he stares up at you from between your legs. He pulls his hand out of your cunt and licks his fingers before putting his mouth back on your clit, making you jump at the contact. You hiss as he licks the sensitive area, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you tug so hard on Vincent’s hair that you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but if you are, he doesn’t stop you. He interlocks his fingers across your stomach and holds you into place, groaning into your clit.

“Okayokayokay,” you move your hands from his hair to head to pull him up, your breathing labored as you try to get yourself together. He leans over to kiss you, his lips softly molding against yours as you wrap your arms around his back.

Breathless, you move your hand down to touch Vincent but he quickly stops you.

“It’s- um-”

You look down and notice the wet spot on Vincent’s boxers, and your eyebrows raise to the top of your forehead as you come to the realization that he came while he was eating you out.

“Did you-”

Vincent groans, hiding his face in your neck as you giggle, coming down from your high.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you thread your fingers through his now disheveled hair. “It’s kind of hot if I’m being honest.” Vincent looks at you with a questioning look but you just smile.

“Plus, we have all night to try again.”

-

You wake up in Vincent’s bedroom, with a few strips of sunlight peeking through Vincent’s closed blinds. You haphazardly reach over to his side of the bed to grab his arm, but find it empty, raising your head from the pillow to see that you’re completely alone. Vincent’s clothes that he had taken off during the night and tossed onto the floor were gone. You waited to see if you could hear Vincent in his kitchen, or in the garden, but you were in complete silence.

To be fair, he didn’t say anything last night to insinuate that he wanted a relationship with you, or even liked you. Maybe this was secretly a win for him - he could beat you in a courtroom, and now he got you in your most vulnerable state to declare that you actually felt something other than hatred for him. And maybe that’s all he wanted. You’re not sure why you expected anything differently.

You throw the blankets off of you and find your clothes neatly folded on his desk, and his courteousness manages to upset you even more. You put your clothes on and try to collect yourself, taking a few deep breaths as you walk out of his bedroom and out towards his kitchen. You scan the room for your phone, which you swear you left on the dining room table, only to finally see it on top of a note on the kitchen counter written in messy cursive.

“Went out for cigarettes and coffee.

Bringing back croissants and a capuc- cappuccino.

Will be back in ten.

Go back to bed.

V”

-

taglist: @ghostlytide

graphic credits: @glasvera

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

Victoria gives me absurd powerbottom vibes tbh… making you kneel before her and lick at her pretty cunt before she decides when she’s done 😁😁

abso-fuckin-lutely

it's her favourite, really. her favourite spare time activity, her stress reliever — and she's got a lot of that. who needs coffee when you're here to make sure she has the best morning possible? so eager, too.

she once made you eat her out during dinner, and the taste of sautéed eggplant on her tongue mixed with the feeling of yours between her legs was absolutely delectable (you made her spill her wine on the brand new white tablecloth and got dicked down for it right on the table, too).

so, safe to say she gets slightly greedy about it.

thing is, she doesn’t like it when your mouth and her pussy part. it’s a union that, in her eyes, should be unbreakable. so no sticking your tongue out to flick at her clit, no irregular flat licks you try to sneak a teasing word in between. none of that. she needs you to commit to it, to devour her.

she wants to feel all of it — lips, teeth, tongue, so you better work it till your jaw is so sore you can’t even thank her properly when her slick gushes down your chin.

“that’s it, sweet thing. just like that,” victoria murmurs as she watches you wrap your mouth around her cunt.

“s’pretty, vic,” you murmur, voice hoarse. “such a pretty pussy. you’re so��“

she doesn’t let you finish. a high-heeled foot pushes at the back of your head, guiding you right where she wants you.

"shh. less talking, more licking," comes the command she's so used to giving, her voice as sharp as the heel digging into your spine. "i didn't bring you here to blab. work it.”

you start slow, just as she likes it, your tongue tracing the length of her, from her entrance to her clit. you feel her shiver, her breath hitching slightly. encouraged, you continue, applying more pressure, more urgency.

"fuck," she breathes, her eyes fluttering closed as she lets out a soft moan. "pull away again and i'm tying you down and riding your face till you choke. don't fucking test me."

a very, very tempting punishment — but you don't exactly plan on disobeying.

you can't. not when she tastes so good, not when she feels so right.

working under her for the fbsa is a whole new experience — completely and utterly unproductive for instance.

it’s also the reason victoria opts for pencil skirts instead of her beloved pantsuits these days.

the only sounds interrupting the silence in her office are the gentle taps of her fingers against the screen and the wet softness of your plush mouth working for your ‘employee of the month’ title.

“hm,” victoria frowns at the numbers on her tablet, lifting it closer to her face. “now this can’t be right.”

she leans forward in her chair to get a better look, her free hand sliding under her desk, fingers wrapping in your hair to tug you off her – a string of saliva and juices connects your bottom lip to her leaking cunt. she doesn’t bother to admire the view — she has much more important matters to attend to.

you watch her brown eyes flicker through the report, a frown on her burgundy lips – something you'll have to work harder to get rid of. her hand still in your hair, manicured nails scratching at your scalp softly, victoria rechecks the numbers once more before scoffing.

“of course. i knew i couldn’t trust them with the percentage counting. honestly—“

her hand pushes at the back of your head firmly, and you hungrily slurp at the juices that have trickled between her puffy folds in the few moments you were separated from her warmth.

“—does anybody in this building know how to do their fucking job?”

you make a sound that sounds painfully reminiscent of a broken whimper, and victoria huffs out a laugh through her nostrils. brushes her hand up your scalp to move some stray strands from your face.

"no-no. it’s never you," she says, her voice a gentle purr as she strokes your hair. "you're doing just fine. it's everyone else who's the problem."

she leans back in her chair, her eyes never leaving the tablet as she continues to scroll through the numbers.

"i swear, if i have to redo the whole thing myself," she mutters, her voice laced with frustration. "it's like they're all just waiting for me to bail them out."

she looks down at you, smiling softly, "but you're not like that, are you?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "you're my good girl. my little problem-solver."

you moan in response, the vibrations sending a shiver through her. she bites her lip, her grip on your hair tightening.

"gonna make my day so much better, aren't you?"

victoria is very much aware the degree of your obedience varies from day to day, so you bet your pretty ass she's investing in a collar. no pet play— vicky isn’t into that, so don’t expect her name and phone number engraved on it, but it is a rather fancy thing nonetheless. the dark leather feels genuine and it smells exactly the way the inside of her mercedes does.

the leash attached to the collar gives victoria all the reign she could possibly have. at this point she doesn’t even let you breathe. you pull away? bad idea. she tugs you right back in, the slobbering mess of your face on her perfect puffy cunt the only view she’ll be having.

she might even give an idle tug or two just to hear you groan into her wetness, tongue-tied deep inside of her, and the pleasure from the vibration has her head tilting back, her thick painted lips parting with a soft sigh.

and when she cums — you don’t even want to pull away at that point, so pussy drunk she has to forcefully tear you away, lips swollen and eyes glossed over.

[throughparisallthroughrome]

"groupie love"

pairing: rockstar!Anakin x reader word count: 2.1k CW: swearing, drug usage, mentions of sex a/n: I've been dressing (and wanting to be) like a rockstar's girlfriend lately, and this popped into my mind. Lemme know if it deserves a part 2... Enjoy!

“Friend of the band?” 

You huff slightly upon hearing the stranger's voice, glancing out of the corner of your eye at the man walking outside with an unlit cigarette in his hand. He strolls over towards you, leaning his back against the brick wall of the venue, mimicking your posture. This was going to be good. With no shame, his eyes trail your body up and down, a smirk forming on his lips as he takes you in. 

“You could say that,” You chuckle to yourself, avoiding his lingering gaze as you pull out another cigarette and light it. As often as this occurred, you paid no mind to it.  

You take a long drag from the cigarette, choosing to smoke outside rather than in the venue. You kept your filthy bad habit a secret from your friends, not wanting them to know you failed at quitting once again. They know you’ve tried, and they know you started again, but nevertheless, it became an unspoken thing. It felt good between your fingers, leaning your head back against the bricks and taking another long drag, ignoring the presence of the man next to you as he lights his own and keeps his gaze fixed upon you. 

Out of curiosity, you finally peeked your head over slightly to get a good look at him. He was clearly arrogant- that was apparent. You could tell by the way he attempted to smooth talk you, not knowing your affiliation. He had dark hair and brown eyes that evidently reflected the desire within. He fiddled with something in his hands, slightly adjusting the cufflinks on his suit. He bit his lip once more, taking a nice long look at your breasts. Fucking perv.

“Give me a call sometimes,” He hands a card over to you as you raise a brow and smirk at the audacity, “I’m sure you’d make a wonderful actress,” He winks before walking back into the venue, actually leaving you alone to smoke. First time for everything.

You chuckle to yourself lightly, taking another drag from your cigarette and smacking the card lightly against the palm of your hand. You flick the cigarette, sticking the card in your back pocket as you take another drag. The cigarette suddenly brings you clarity, furrowing your brows as you reach into the back pocket of your jeans and pull the card back out. Jared Schultz, Adult Films. You scoff and roll your eyes, the annoyance building up in your throat. 

“Fuck porn agents,” You crumble the card up in your hands, shoving it in the front pockets of your jeans to make for an interesting story later. Annoyance wasn’t a strong enough word for the way that made you feel. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, glancing at the time and huffing, taking one last drag of your cigarette only to throw it to the ground and stomp. You brushed the hair out of your face, strolling back and aggressively swinging the stage-left door open.

Instantly, your mood improved as you studied the dim lighting and smoke you were greeted with. You glanced at angry tour managers and several groupies. It always puts a smile on your face. You walked next to the stage, watching as the sound guys fixed the last mics and talked to the opener, eager to get them on stage as quickly as possible. They were already 15 minutes behind, and Padmé, the beloved manager, was about to blow.

You giggled to yourself, watching as she yelled at the production crew for fucking up, walking around all bossy in her sexy little pantsuit, apologizing to the opening band as their anxiety grew. She glanced at you, giving you a tight-lipped smile, gripping her clipboard ever so aggressively as she returned her attention back to the band. 

You grinned at her, knowing she needed it. Her job was the hardest; managing the 501st was no painless task. You couldn’t fathom it. Lost in thought, you suddenly realized you were in the way as the crew got more frantic. You quickly walk away, adverting your gaze as you nod to a few others and turn the corner down the hallway to the dressing room. You passed a few crew members, loading in different pieces of equipment to go on the stage next to make this changeover as quick and painless as possible. There was no chance that was happening on this tour. 

You pass a few open doors before poking your head into the 501st’s dressing room. 

“Y/N!” They all shouted, raising their hands filled with various playing cards and drinks, clearly eager to see you return from your quick smoke break outside. God, they were plastered. 

“There she is,” Anakin grins at you, holding a joint in one hand and a bottle on Hennessy in the other as he motions for you to come over.

You walk carefully through the room, not wanting to step on anyone or see their cards as you make your way to the couch. You grin mischievously at Anakin before plopping on the floor in between his legs as he takes another swig. 

“How’s my girl?” He asks, setting down the bottle and running his fingers through your hair. You lean into his touch, humming in response. 

“Good! Got another one of these,” You sit up slightly from him, feeling his disappointment from the absence of your touch. Reaching your hand into your pocket, Anakin’s brow raises in confusion as you struggle to pull the card out. Your index finger finally grabs onto it, and you pull it out, tossing it behind your head for him to catch. He carefully removes his hand from your scalp, catching the card and chuckling slightly. 

“Give me that,” You take the joint out of Rex’s hand, taking a long puff, “Gonna need it,”

“Motherfucker!” Anakin jokingly shouts, throwing the card down. You snort at his reaction, the rest of the band laughing along.

“What is it?” Cal looks up briefly from the line of coke he was snorting, suddenly very intrigued.

“Oh, look who came up for air!” Ahsoka teases, sitting back and giggling at him. You raise a brow at this. 

“Yeah, better watch out, Kestis, gonna have a hole in your nose pretty soon,” You laugh at him, taking another drag from the joint in your hand.

“He already does,” Cody adds; you laugh even harder.

“Okay, okay,” He sets the coke-lined credit card down, looking back at Anakin behind you, “But what was it?”

“Another fucking porn agent,” He takes a swig of his drink, feeling it burn down his throat, “They want her bad. No surprise there, really,”

“Seriously,” Ahsoka adds, looking down at the cards in her hand. She focuses on Rex, trying to read his expression as they begin to wrap up their pre-show poker game.

“What can I say,” You lean back into Anakin, feeling his hardened cock behind your head, “I know I’m hot- they know I’m hot. We’d both benefit and make a fuck ton of money. Can’t say I blame them for trying.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” You turn to look at Obi-Wan, not making eye contact as he intently focuses on the cards in his hands.

“Fuck off,” Anakin groans, eager to change the subject, as he throws his head back against the couch pretty aggressively.

“Hey,” You tap his leg, turning around to face the man behind you. He grins upon seeing your face. “How much have you had? I don’t want you to get too fucked up.” 

“Don’t worry, princess,” He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your head, “Haven’t had a lot. I’m watching, don’t worry,” You smile at him, turning your attention back to the poker game in front of you.

“Full house,” Rex puts his cards down, a smirk on his face.

“Fuck!!!!!” Ahsoka throws her cards down as Rex scoots the pile of cash towards him. 

“Nice try, kid. Better luck next time,” he winks at her as she rolls her eyes and lights a cigarette. 

“Hey, band,” Padme knocks on the door, gaining everyone’s attention, “You’re up. Good luck out there, and make us proud!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Ahsoka shoots up, saluting Padmé as she rolls her eyes and leaves the room, clipboard and all. 

“Alright, guys, let’s give 'em hell,” Anakin says, sitting up and following you as you stand. 

“Ah, ah,” you say, pouring several shots of Clase Azul for everyone to take. “You forgot about our lucky shot!” They all roll their eyes at you, laughing at the tradition.

“Who’s bright fucking idea was it to make this lucky shot tequila,” Obi-wan grumbles before holding his nose as he pours the shot down his throat. You close your eyes and laugh at him.

“Mine, actually,” Anakin laughs, putting a protective hand over your shoulder as he gives you a light kiss on the cheek, the smell of tequila lingering on his breath.

The rest of the band runs out onto the stage, Anakin following closely behind as the crowd erupts in cheers. You smile deeply, watching him go. Anakin quickly runs down the stage stairs back toward you, grinning as he watches you furrow your brows in confusion. Before you had time to say anything, he engulfs you in a warm, deep kiss. He slowly pulls away, putting his forehead against yours and panting slightly, excited from the tension between you and the roars of the crowd.

“I love you, baby,” You cup his cheek and smile, seeing the familiar grin spread across his lips, “Go make me proud,”

“Anything from you, Princess,” He kisses your head once more before grabbing his guitar and running up on stage. 

You watch him go, hearing the sound of the fans increase with Anakin’s presence. Padme shows up at your side, guiding you over to the backstage watching area. 

“Who’s ready for the best fucking night of their lives!” Anakin screams into the mic, the crowd eating up every charming word that leaves his mouth.

They start loud and heavy, the crowd singing and dancing to every lyric, melody, and rhythm. You point over to the mosh pit starting near the stage- remembering your own mosh days. 

You observe as Anakin sings passionately into the mic, playing his guitar even better. Rex kills it on drums, Cody kills it on percussion even better. Cal is so coked out on the keys that it’s hilarious- but it would never dull his playing. Ahsoka always fucking shreds it on bass, standing next to Obi-Wan, her rhythm guitar player. 

You scream and dance and practically lose your voice singing to the songs, the opener and Padmé joining alongside you. You played with the necklace he gave you, never taking your eyes off of him.

It got to that time of night, and his shirt came off, followed by the fans losing their shit. He turns around and shoots you a wink as you bite your lip and blow him a kiss in response.

“Alderaan, how bad do you want it?” He moans slightly into the mic, relishing in their screams as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks ever so slightly. 

“ALDERAAAAAN!” He screamed into the mic, leaning back as he said it, “I said, how fucking bad do you want it!” 

The crowd is so loud you swore it was a world record. 

“That’s what I thought,” Anakin adjusts his guitar strap before breaking into one of the band's heavier, sexier songs. His voice is smooth, raspy, and sensual. He makes sure to turn around every now and then just so you know who he is singing about. 

Anakin runs off stage, wrapping his sweaty arms around you in a much-needed embrace. He picks you up off the ground and into a passionate kiss, ignoring the fans' cries for an encore. You giggle against his touch; the passion of the kiss ignores the wetness of his touch. He pulls back, grinning as he holds you as closely as he can manage.

“You’re amazing, Ani,” you sigh, cupping his face into your hands as he presses a gentle kiss against your palm. “Better go give them what they want,” you motion your head towards the crowd. Anakin’s grin grows wider as he kisses you once more, forcing his tongue to meet with yours, savoring the taste of you. 

“Only because you asked,” He winks before letting go and running back on stage. “I love you.” He yells back, turning around to face the crowd, letting them bask in his presence one more time before he returns to his rightful place in your arms. 

[heartsofminds]

i'm calling just to hear you scream - part ii.

“Free means “fuck.” She’s gonna fuck us, Sugar and you don’t even fucking care!” or it's your first day at The Bear (or is it The Beef still?), Richie is convinced you're a fed, and Carmen may or may not hate your guts.

A/N: well surprise, surprise! here's part two of i'm calling just to hear you scream. definitely more of a filler chapter before everything starts to implode and get more serious and downright grimey, but i hope you enjoy!

The shadows created by the awnings of the sandwiched businesses chill your bones while the Sun makes your backside sticky beneath your sweater and light spring jacket. Chicago is beautiful in March, but always full of surprises.

One day comes an icy snowstorm that adds to the gray slush collecting on the side of the street and the next a blissful sixty-one degrees that gaslights everyone into walking around with shorts on because it’s just “so warm.” 

You can’t revel in the tranquility for much longer. Not when you’re pretty sure you’re coming up on the address Natalie emailed you two nights ago. 628 West Wager Street sits prettily in between an old antique shop and a Chicago Cubs merchandise store that has definitely seen better days. Despite no sign hanging on the window and the glass completely shielded from outside eyes by brown butcher paper, it somehow looks like it belongs; the younger sibling of a once booming and vibrant street scene. 

Being outside of the door is a feeling that fills you with both anxiety and uncertainty. You know you’re in the right spot but you don’t feel like you are; not when you can’t hear any noise coming from any of the three storefronts that stand in front of you. You’re made even more uneasy when you see the five by eleven sheet of insulated foil wrap with capital letters written in Sharpie taped to the front window. 

The Beef is closed. Thank you for your patronage. The Bear is coming. 

The nerves start to hit you even harder. All Natalie had mentioned over the phone and through your frequent emails have been about needing help with a restaurant. The name of the aforementioned restaurant had never been disclosed and its location remained a mystery until this morning when you got an email with the unspoken directions that Apple Maps would omit. There’s nothing more embarrassing than doing a consult and not knowing any of the details. It’s even more humiliating when the feeling of being made a fool seems inevitable. 

Your arm refuses to move forward and yank the door open in case this is some sick prank. You half expect Becca to be hiding behind it with the “good ole boys” crew that is full of Senior and Junior partners at your law firm; their only purpose is to further humiliate and belittle you more than they already do on a day-to-day basis at the office. 

It’s a ridiculous thing to think that someone would care enough about you and your shame to do that, you know, but it’s the only way you can rationalize your brain warning you not to touch that door. Your eyes catch your reflection and suddenly you want the concrete sidewalk to swallow you whole. You take in how your navy blue pantsuit engulfs you and how your work bag seems to get heavier and heavier as it hangs solemnly at your side. 

You don’t belong here. 

The itch to turn around and run back to the train as fast as you could possibly manage crosses your mind, but the shattering of the quiet oasis around you interrupts that thought before it can materialize. 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up!” you hear a voice scream.

“Do you ever realize you don’t know fuckin’ everything!” another one screams back. 

The sound of a wall being hit accompanies the shouts as well as numerous other voices joining in on the cacophony the verbal altercation created. 

Call it a hunch (or just having enough common sense), but you definitely are in the right place and there are certainly people inside. The scary part of not knowing is over. The absolutely horrifying part of having to see where you fit in is pending. 

Your fingers grip the solid metal door handle and you rip it open. The resounding squeal it emits makes you want the floor to swallow you up whole. The chaos of screaming shouting and yelling start to pause before the sound of the sledgehammer hitting the wall a second time interrupts it and sends it into a full frenzy once again. 

The world seems to be moving in slow motion and your words are caught in your throat. You’ve never seen chaos like this before, but you’ve definitely felt the way you’re currently feeling every day for the past five years. Faces you don’t know, a nagging feeling of responsibility, a dire need to do the best job you possibly can and not fucking up and not pissing anyone off, and yet no idea where to even start. 

“If I already fuckin’ told you you were tearing the wrong wall down why the actual fuck would you do it again!” a strained scream bounces off the walls. 

You jolt at the echo. The current lack of infrastructure and an igloo of scaffolding tarp amplifies the sound by three thousand decibels. 

He can’t see your face because his back is turned toward you, but the temperament and the mop of curls tell you the obvious. Carmen. Natalie’s brother and shareholder that she had subtly warned you about in a half-joking, half-not tone when you had spoken on the phone the other day. 

“To prove a fucking point,” a lankier taller man scoffs back. Richie. Their cousin, not cousin (which you don’t really understand, but you chalk it up to a deduction that not everything is meant to make sense), and the absolute bane of Natalie and Carmen’s existence at times. She had also warned you about him on the phone. “Even if I’m wrong you never fail to always think you’re fucking right like a – like a fucking baby! You walk around here pissed the fuck off and fucking changing everything and makin’ it everyone else’s fucking problem –” 

Carmen lunges at him and two other men from the crowd almost pick him up from the floor to prevent him from tackling Richie. 

“Everyone else’s prob – You’re my fucking problem! You’re my fuckin’ problem and all you know how to do is fuck up and make everything fuckin’ worse!” 

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuckin’ pissy ass pamper cry baby.” 

Carmen tries his hardest to wrangle himself out of the hold he’s currently in. Sydney, a genius and the Lord’s prayer (according to Natalie, also), clumps herself near him as he remains twisting and turning like a toddler fighting a parent’s protective hold through a temper tantrum. 

“Chill, chill, chill. Stop. Just stop,” she gently coos. Her hand claps the shoulder of one of the men holding him up. You can see the gentle squeeze it gives to provide silent comfort, but you wonder if the softness in her tone is to deescalate the situation or to help regulate herself. 

He’s dragged out to what you can assume is the backdoor and it slams with a cadence that demands attention. A sharp thud can be heard five seconds later accompanied by various, “Yo, what the fuck, dude?”’s. 

He must have kicked the door. He definitely kicked the door. 

Your body continues to stay frozen in the bare entryway. The survival skills you’ve adapted kick into full effect. Don’t make a move. Don’t make a sound. Do not piss anyone else off. 

The aftermath of commotion and chatter fills the room and leaves no space for you. You have half the mind to put your hand back on the handle and dip out before anyone notices. You’ve been here all of three minutes and you feel as if it’s been a year. The shouting and the hurtful insults and the frequent use of the word “fuck” send a blush down your chest. You’re embarrassed because you’re starting to think that you can’t handle it. You’re not good enough. You’re not strong enough. 

What the fuck were you thinking even coming here? 

The push of your thigh against the door causes the rusted metal hinge to groan again. The sound is indiscernible from relief or protest; staying or leaving. Either option makes your skin crawl. The sudden redirection of eyes casts a dome of silence and everyone zones in on the thing that wasn’t there before: you. 

No one moves and for a second, you don’t think anyone blinks. The realization of someone infiltrating a rather robust and rage-filled argument occurring at nine in the morning sinks in before the vein of awkwardness begins to bleed. You know the logical thing to do is to introduce yourself; to force a plaster-like smile on your face and extend your hand and ask how everyone is doing. 

But you don’t. 

You can’t. 

Natalie can feel the alarm bells going off in her head when her eyes float to your figure. You look worried; a flash of pensiveness and subtle fear floods your facial expression and she starts to panic. Opening a restaurant is beyond humbling and asking Becca Cantor for her help was a last-ditch effort to contain the smallest bit of confidence she had left. Besides, she would rather roll over and die than you to walk out that door, tell Becca about how they’re sledgehammering walls with a gang of lunatics at the restaurant, and somehow get a call from Uncle Jimmy that turns into a stern talking to about how they’re just dicking around with his money and how it’s a waste of time. 

You absolutely, positively can not walk out that door. 

She’ll make sure of it. Even if it’s the last thing she ever fucking does. 

Her feet carry her faster than what her brain is aware of. Her eyes have to catch up with the scenery passing her in a blur as she walks up to you. Seeing her face calms you down in a way that is small but not unnoticed. She has kind eyes and a calm demeanor. This is the kind of client that gives you confidence. This is the kind of client that brings you joy. This is the kind of work you were made to do. 

“Oh, hey! You found it!” she cheers. Her hand brushes against your bicep in a welcome. 

The pool of spit inside your mouth gets swallowed as you curtly nod. “Yeah! Yeah, I thought Apple Maps led me astray but I was definitely in the right spot.” 

Pretending not to notice the curious gazes behind your interaction proves difficult, but it’s not something you’re not used to. Working in an office means there’s always someone in your business and you always feel like you’re under constant surveillance. 

At least this time, the threat of humiliation seems considerably low. The obvious danger of being chased out of here with a sledgehammer is considerably high though. 

“How are you doing?” you ask quietly. A conversation of niceties always makes things less awkward and gives you some leeway for at least learning who the owners are of the staring eyes. 

“Yo, who the fuck is this, Suge?” Richie asks, wiping his plaster-covered hands on his shirt. His face still harbors a flush that had yet to dissipate. He also has kind eyes but you know from the moments you witnessed prior that he can turn his kindness off and on instantaneously. 

Natalie rolls her eyes and huffs. The damage control that she’s doing is not going to plan. She had grown up around cursing and incredibly forward questioning and knows that not everyone else had, and from the disastrous commotion you stumbled into five minutes prior and the way your eyes show more of the whites than the irises, the crudeness needs to take a backseat. 

At least enough of one to ensure that you’re not about to turn around and bolt out of that shitty ass door that she had been bitching at Richie to oil for the past two months. 

She moves to stand next to you and puts her arm around your shoulder. Natalie knows that the second they find out that you’re an attorney all hell will break loose. Something about accusing you of being “fed” and coming to rip the “fundamentals of democracy” out from under them brews in her mind and she gags a little at the thought of having to diffuse yet another shit show before ten in the morning. 

The unwelcome taste of acid tinging the back of her tongue makes her take a mental note to ask her OB about being so nauseous. 

“This is our attorney,” she starts and begins to ignore the groans coming from the crowd in front of her, “She’s gonna help us with some...things.” 

Richie scoffs and throws his hands up. He wipes at his nose with his forearm and some of the plaster residue makes a home on the tip of it. 

“You brought a fuckin’ fed in here, Sugar?” His eyebrows rise to his hairline and it doesn’t take a genius to know how he doesn’t want you here at all. “I told you I had this under wraps. The fuck do we need a fed up our ass for if we’re just tearin’ down walls and shit.” 

You sigh and Natalie can feel the anxiety radiating off of you. She’s starting to absorb it, but the fight in her to make this right persists. 

“Well, first of all, the fed has a fucking name, you dick,” she snaps, “And you’ve been slinging beef sandwiches your entire adult life so the fuck do we need you for?”  

Richie exhales as the rest of the people around him start to snicker. 

“Damn, Papa. You need to pipe down,” whom you guess is Tina from some of the people who had been mentioned to you through the phone calls (and there’s so many goddamn people in here for it to be out of business and you’re sure you’ll need to start doing flashcards every night to remember who they are). 

“Thanks, T,” Natalie and Richie chirp in unison; their voices capturing the different emotions of annoyance and triumph differently. 

Some more harsh words and excited chatter served with a side of frustration occurs and you’re so checked out that you don’t even realize that no one has asked you directly what your name is. The animated voices and exaggerated body movement swell the room even more; pushing you outside and three blocks away so vividly through emotion that you have to check to make sure your feet haven’t moved. 

No one has asked who you are and which firm you came from. No one has asked how you are. And still, no one has asked you what your name is. 

They continue to talk and joke and yell and you start to feel yourself shrinking in. 

Smaller, smaller, smaller. 

Gone. 

You know that it’s not personal. It’s almost never personal, but the mind tends to conjure up ideas when it can’t make sense of the feelings it detects from the body. 

Maybe it had just gotten thrown to the wayside. Maybe they were making room for direct conversation with you to occur later when things weren’t so awkward. Maybe they don’t hate you and think you’re the worst and may actually like you.

But then maybe they don’t. 

Maybe they just don’t give a fuck. 

In your catatonic daze, you hear an offhanded remark about how you look like a high schooler who just waltzed in after a Model UN convention and that Natalie has no idea what the fuck she was doing. The laughter that follows highlights those who actively agree and the agitated huffs of frustration show those who silently concur. 

In any other circumstance, you probably would have joined them in laughter or returned a smart-alecky response or accompanied them in making fun of you, but this isn’t a different circumstance. You’re in a construction zone on a Saturday morning, overdressed with a pantsuit on, and have not a clue on how hospitality law works, and the facts leave a non-disputable conclusion. 

You’re the odd one out and you can’t get an invite to be even no matter how hard you try.

You truly don’t belong here. 

“Richie, have you ever considered that maybe we need to do it right this time?” Natalie asks, her tone dripping annoyance, “Her being here clearly doesn’t affect your ability to be an idiot, so you can go fuck yourself because she’s staying.” 

Richie narrows his eyes at her. His lanky limbs flail as he attempts to make his emotions seen without having to verbalize them. Natalie has had it with his stubbornness and she knows that she might be puking her guts out in about fifteen minutes. The great debate has to have an ending in sight soon. 

Besides, she knows that Richie’s apprehension toward the whole thing is because he’s resisting change and trying to get under Carmen’s skin. It doesn’t matter how great she knows her brother can make something. Richie will try and put a pin in it before it becomes something he no longer recognizes. 

Just like their dad. Somewhat like Mikey. Especially like Carmen (even though she knows he doesn’t recognize his own stubbornness yet). 

“Jesus, that’s fuckin’ horse shit if I’ve heard it,” he sneers, “And I happen to be very intelligent and very charming – and FYI – I also know how a fucking business works and all this “foo-foo,” “high dining”, microgreen shit –” 

She holds up her hand to him and rolls her eyes. She’s surprised she hasn’t been able to see the back of her skull yet. “It’s fine dining, but whatever.” 

“Fuck all the way off. Fine dining, microgreen shit is a dishonor to our roots and I will not stand for it.” 

Natalie’s hand smacks down on a metal rolling table with a rusty toolbox and a wrinkled pad of Post-it notes. The sounds of clanky metal snap everyone’s attention to her. Natalie was never mean. She was always sugary sweet and ooey gooey; trying to be in everyone’s good graces at all times and forever attempting to fix things before they had the potential to be broken. But she could also brush the sugar off and leave a bitter and tongue-curdling hurt if she got pushed to her limit. 

She’s not had a full night’s rest since she got asked (more like begged, but she’s not one for bragging) to be their project manager, she can’t bare to stomach anything nowadays without wrestling the urge to puke it back up, and the fucking pregnancy hormones are filling her with unexplained bouts of rage as of late. 

She is not one to be fucked with and Richie knows that. He just always wants to poke the bear. 

“Well that’s fuckin’ sad that your “roots” are tied to an Italian beef shop, but that doesn’t change my mind whatsoever,” she pushes past him with more force than she intended, guiding you along with her to wherever she had in mind, “You can bitch and moan and holler all you want but you’re not the one losing your fucking mind over fucking paperwork so whatever other unhelpful and extremely negative shit you have to say can get shoved up your ass and you can get fucked because I’m not putting up with it.” 

Richie is rendered speechless – a phenomenon that does not occur very often. 

She turns to you and gives you a friendly smile. Her hand rests softly above yours that are bawled into anxious fists. “Let’s go into the office so we can talk some more. Are you okay with that?” 

You’re still frozen in equal parts shock and fear; too scared to say no. 

“Umm. . .yeah. Yeah, we can go to the back,” you swallow and she brisks you away to what you assume is where all the paperwork is housed that they need help making sense of resides. 

You arrive outside of a closed wooden door and Natalie steps in front of it, her arms coming down to hug the hinges of it in a way that makes you slightly worried. “So I know that you’re not a hospitality attorney and I know that you’re doing this for free and you’re totally at liberty to say you want out the second you say the word,” she speaks softly. 

You know that she’s starting to panic. Your feelings and her feelings are starting to merge into one; two halves of the same whole – people pleasers. 

“But it’s. . .a lot and I don’t know even know where to start and this is legitimately driving me insane so –” 

Her anxiety starts to break your heart. The pang in your chest makes your decision for you. No matter how uncomfortable you are, you know you need to do the right thing out of the kindness of your own heart. 

“No, it’s fine!” you cut her off, “I’ll take a look and we’ll figure it out. Nothing you have here is too much. I can promise you that.” 

Ocean blue irises engulf you with sentiment and appreciation through their gaze. Natalie’s shoulders sag before her hand finds the gold doorknob. A deep breath adds to the noise of chatter and squeaks of the faulty fire alarm in the hallway. The oak door opens with a wheeze and a groan; stuck because of the swell its wood causes from the constant fluctuation of temperatures in Chicago. 

“Well,” she begins, “Here it is.” 

The mountains of cardboard boxes all labeled with acronyms and doodled with nonsense send the pit in your stomach down to your toes and through the center of the Earth. 

Holy fucking shit. 

Natalie notices your shock and starts to go back into “fix-it” mode. She hasn’t eaten at all today, but she figures that the emotions bubbling up and down at a fixed and constant rate are what fill her insides and are making her nauseous. Bile starts to make its way up her throat but she forces it back down. 

She’ll be damned if this goes even more sour than how she knows it has. 

“It’s a lot and it’s more sorting things and making them make sense than doing actual work? Like you’re gonna be doing work but it’s not rocket science. . . Not that being an attorney isn’t hard! My husband is one and I. . .need to shut up now,” she word vomits. Despite the apparent fact that she’s panicking, the sound of her voice is soothing and the gentle hand she places on the junction between the base of your neck and your shoulder does wonders to ground you. “And there’s no rush to have all of it done. It’s a work at your own pace kinda thing?” 

You both know that she’s fibbing about the last part. 

The frantic text at 11 PM last week and the hour-long phone call debriefs you had yesterday and three days before say otherwise. This is her compromising and making her needs smaller. This is her being like you and you being like her; being like each other. Digging yourself into holes to help others no matter the effort – no matter the pain. 

“No, I’m doing this because I want to. Just let me know exactly what you need and we can get to it as soon as possible.” 

You know that you must have said the golden word because as soon as the statement leaves your mouth, Natalie whips out her phone and starts reading off a list she had compiled of all things that have some link to the legal world. 

Contracts. Permits. Tax revenue sheets. Paystubs. Workers Compensation. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. City Ordinances. Chicago royally fucking anyone who dares to open a business, really. 

The sad part is that this should scare you. This should make you want to run out of here and never look back and purposely take the long way to get somewhere if you knew where you were headed would cross paths with the restaurant. 

But you don’t do any of that, and the buzz of finally doing something that you know is helping people overpowers the migraine of stress you can feel looming over you the second you agree to help them out. 

“You’re amazing,” she says, eyes twinkling with admiration. 

Your cheeks turn a shade of baby pink that you hope she can’t see. You’ve never taken well to flattery. 

Richie’s knuckles give a soft knock on the door and it opens before either of you can think to welcome another presence. His gaze finds both of you fist-deep into the first box labeled “Cocksuckers: For IRS - 1987.” You already know that he’s not related to the Berzattos by blood, but the beautiful blue eyes make you question that fact. He gives a sheepish smile almost to apologize for his interruption and you think he’s about to apologize before he opens his mouth and says, “Suge, your dashing baby brother is bout to blow a fuse because the fed is here.” 

Natalie stops what she’s doing. Her hands come to rest on the flimsy cardboard box and she throws her head back to eye the ceiling. If she can count the row of six vertically, maybe she can slow her breathing and calm herself down enough to spare Carmy the chewing out of a lifetime. 

One. 

“Sugar!” 

Two. 

“Get the fuck off me!” 

Three. 

“I said get the fuck off me! I need to see my fuckin’ sister!” 

Four. 

“Sugar!” 

Five. 

“Leave me the fuck alone!” 

Six. 

“Natalie!” 

Her brother appears in front of her disheveled and angry. Even though she’s only five years older than he is, she always sees him as the little baby she used to put in her strollers and push around for years until he got too big and too “grown” to think playing with his older sister was cool. Years spent with him also meant years studying him; knowing his ticks down to the smallest one and learning how he expresses every emotion. 

It was the only way she survived living in that house until she was eighteen. 

Dealing with an angry Carmen is nothing in comparison to dealing with an angry Michael or even attempting to console a slightly agitated mother. 

Besides, Carmy’s anger, while often misguided and very explosive, was never unexpected. He always has a tell and there’s always a few seconds before he completely comes unglued. Adult temper tantrums are shit shows, and quite frankly she’s fed up with having to diffuse one of his every couple of hours as of late. 

Her face starts to fall when she sees Carmen’s left eye begins to create that deep crinkle it does when he gets pissed. He starts to wrinkle his nose and she knows that he’s about to start screaming. 

Richie lets out a whistle before pushing Carmen’s head in a playful yet agitated manner. Before his hand can be swatted at, he jumps out of the way and joins in on a distant conversation about his daughter’s last dance recital. 

He has a smug grin on his face that Carmen wants nothing more than to slap off him. He knew that touching him would provoke him even more.  

Richie always has to poke the bear. 

Always. 

Carmen tries to contain his anger the best he can. Even though he’s totally against the idea of having you in the building, he knows there’s jackshit he can do about it now. Sydney said yes, Natalie sought you out, and Uncle Jimmy thought the idea was brilliant. The vote was three against one and he knows that all he can do is go fuck himself. So much for everyone promising not to make decisions about the restaurant without his okay. 

It’s not like his credit will be the one that’s fucked if this place turns to shit. 

His arm stretches to hold the side of the door’s hinge and supports his body weight as he leans to the right. “You hired a fucking attorney and didn’t tell me?” he snaps. His face pinches in a way that brings his nose, eyes, and mouth closer together; a face their mom used to make before she came totally unglued. 

You have your back turned toward the door he’s looming in. Something about being targeted makes you want to be blind to it; to shut your eyes as tightly as you can and will it away. You know that the way he’s acting has everything to do with him and nothing to do with you, but you can’t help it. When you feel out of place, every action to push you further out feels personal. 

“She’s doing it for free,” Natalie scoffs, putting a lid back on one of the boxes and crossing her arms over her chest. She would offer up more information, but what would be the use if Carmy is as wound up as he is? 

“Free means “fuck.” She’s gonna fuck us, Sugar, and you don’t even fucking care!” he screeches, seemingly uncaring that you’re right in front of him and that he’s biting his sister’s head off as if it’s nothing. 

You start to pull files out of the boxes faster than you were before. The distraction is needed because you know that if you listen too intently to what else is being said, you’ll start internalizing it later. 

Nothing with you. Everything with him. Nothing with you. Everything with him. 

“No. She is not gonna fuck us,” she pushes a finger into his chest and her nostrils flaring, “You’re gonna fuck us because you’re being so stubborn and stupid and can’t have a goddamn conversation like an adult.” 

His chest pushes deeper into his sister’s finger. “You calling me a baby? You calling me a fucking baby?” 

Carmen usually isn’t one to pick a fight in his everyday life, but once he gets started he refuses to back down. The rational part of his brain knows that he’s going overboard but he can’t help himself. The rage inside has nowhere to go and this whole thing is really pissing him off. He’s so fucking sick of everyone acting like he’s too immature and irresponsible to handle things.

Natalie’s finger comes out to become a full palm. “Well then stop the yelling. Stop the pissy pamper attitude. Stop wasting our fucking time and just admit that you’re way over your fucking head and don’t know everything.” 

Carmen balls his hands into fists and licks his lips to prevent him from saying something really fucking mean. He knows that Natalie is just trying to help but she always is, and it fucking sucks when she always saves the day even when he doesn’t want her to. The restaurant was supposed to be theirs; supposed to be all him and Mikey and everyone who made them into the people they are. It was never supposed to be his. It was never supposed to be his when he has not a goddamn clue what he’s doing and Natalie driving herself borderline insane trying to proactively fix everything before it turns to shit. 

He doesn’t know what to say because she’s right. Sugar is always right and Carmen is always wrong and he wishes Michael was here to balance them out; to add a third option so it wasn’t so split. 

But he’s not here. He won’t be here. He never really was here. 

“Fuck!” he yells at the top of his lungs. 

“Fuck!” Natalie shouts back. 

Argument over. 

His shoes slide on the floor with ease and he tries to steady his breathing. His arms let go of the door frame and his head hangs with the dissatisfaction of still housing a boulder of anger. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he whispers, voice growing smaller as he walks away. A loud clash of hollowed metal is heard shortly after. “Fuck!” 

“Punching the lockers doesn’t get rid of the fact you’re a little bitch, Cousin.” 

Richie has to poke the bear. 

Always.

[kingofpopmj]

Just Promise Baby, You'll Love Me Forevermore

Summary: Michael and Y/N take part in an interview together.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Actress!Reader

Warnings: fluff, Fluff and more FLUFF Requested: Yes

"Hello everyone, we're having some last minute lighting issues. We should be good to go in a few minutes. Please stand by." A tall man with long brown hair and a headset announced to the room.

The interviewer stood alone tapping her foot, a young twenty-something brunette woman. She had become a household name overnight because of this very interview, her first high level project. She wore a figure hugging navy blue pantsuit with light makeup. She was nervously checking her clipboard every few seconds, scribbling down last minute notes.

"Hi, I'm Y/N, it's very nice to meet you. Thank you so much for being here." Y/N's sweet voice filled the air, introducing herself as if everyone didn't already know her name, but it said a lot about her character. She gracefully made her way around the room kindly making conversation with each person present. Her undivided attention was given to each individual, nothing less, she hung on their every word, asking thoughtful questions in return and in those few moments they were putty in her hands.

"Hello, how are you? I'm Michael. Thank you for taking part in this project with us." Michael Jackson—THE Michael Jackson followed a few paces behind Y/N, his version of walking appeared more like gliding. Eventually, he caught up with Y/N, securing a firm arm around her, his thumb rubbing circles in her hip. They continued greeting everyone and they swept them off their feet as a team. A beautiful, kind-hearted team. It was truly indescribable— like watching two mythical creatures prove their existence right before our eyes.

It was overwhelming— in the most amazing way possible. The star power aside, they seemed very normal. The two of them genuinely enjoyed meeting everyone, didn't leave anyone out and remembered every name. Michael stole glances, numerous lingering stares at his beloved. The way he looked at her, you could feel his emotions, he didn't just think she was beautiful— she was his everything. He didn't laugh or smile until he saw that she was doing the same. The protectiveness was evident. He wasn't jealous or threatened. He was cautious and confident. The way he watched over her wasn't possessive, it was sweet, like she was as vital to him as his own beating heart.

"Let's get our stars set with microphones." A short woman shuffled over to Michael and Y/N, guiding them over to their seats. They were going through the process of being wired up and I couldn't help but to admire their carefree nature.

They stood in front of one another, pulling silly faces at each other, giggling and enjoying themselves. They somehow managed to make this room feel like a home and everyone in it extended family.

"That works. Daryl, thank you." Y/N smiled, placing her hand on the assistants shoulder, the redness taking over his face and growing deeper by the second as he scurried off.

The couple shared a moment, whispering to one another with coquettish smiles. Michael moved to stand in front of her as she took her seat. He removed his coat without a second thought, Y/N waving her hands in the air as if to reject the gesture, but he paid no mind. He carefully placed the coat across her thighs, protecting her from wandering eyes and cameras. A tender kiss to her lips before he walked off for a moment.

"Hello, I'm Leslie, I'll be conducting the interview today. I can't believe you're here! This is insane! This is so cool!" She became very giddy, barely catching herself from continuing, Y/N sweetly matched her enthusiasm. "I mean, it's such an honor to meet you. I'm a huge fan. You're so talented." She spoke quickly, her eyes shining brightly with excitement. "You're even more beautiful in person. Thank you for agreeing to this and selecting me to be your interviewer. I know this interview is the first of its kind. I'm incredibly grateful to be part of it."

Y/N listened closely, nodding her head, following along, silently studying the woman before her, then standing up and leaning in for a sweet embrace. Leslie was visibly losing her mind, Y/N shared words of encouragement as she held her. She's sweet, astonishingly delightful and humble.

“Thank you so much. Leslie, you’re very kind. I appreciate you taking us up on the offer. We took time to watch your interviews and were blown away by your style. We knew immediately you were the one we wanted to create this with. We're really excited."

"I still can't believe you two know who I am. I'm so nervous. I apologize in advance if I become even more of a blubbering mess when Mr. Jackson joins us. I know he's your—"

"Oh, please call me Michael. It's lovely to finally meet you." A delicate voice sounded from behind Leslie. Y/N watched as he made his way to the seat next to her, a smile on her face and a light blush across her cheeks. Michael held his hand out to greet Leslie, but she was frozen.

"I'm— Wow— Okay." She stuttered. "This is real. This is happening. Michael, it's great to meet you. I'm a huge fan of you. Both of you. I'm actively struggling to process all of this." She giggled as she gestured toward the two celebrities in front of her. "I— wow. This is mind boggling."

"Thank you. We feel the exact same way. We admire your work as well." Michael said with soft laughter, as Leslie appeared to forget how to breathe. He then directed his attention to Y/N.

"You grow more beautiful by the second. My love, how do you feel, are you comfortable?" He kissed her cheek, gently resting his hand on top of hers. Michael made a habit of asking her that question throughout their relationship. If for any reason she didn't feel safe in a space, no explanation was needed, just a yes or a no and Michael would whisk her away. He knew firsthand how this industry operated and he intended to protect her at all costs.

"You're such a flirt. I’m doing just fine. Thank you honey." She giggled, hiding behind her long hair.

"The two minutes we had to part in the hallway were dreadful.” Michael pouted clutching his chest for dramatic effect.

"Those two minutes were nearly unsurvivable." Y/ N sweetly agreed while caressing his cheek.

It was beautiful to watch them interact in a somewhat private setting. The way they love one another was so authentic, so intimate, but not far enough to be uncomfortable for those in their company. It was real. They're just two people, with unfathomable talent, insane lifestyles but deeply in love and undeniably their true selves.

"We're ready to go!" A man's voice echoed through the studio.

Leslie nodded, taking a few deep breaths and glancing over her notes one last time.

"Three, Two, One." The cameraman spoke, pointing over to Leslie, signaling her to begin her introduction.

"Good evening, I'm Leslie Johnson, thank you for joining us tonight. Tonight is vastly different from our usual programming because tonight you are witnessing history in the making. Our first ever live interview with undoubtedly the two greatest stars this generation has ever seen. They are gifted with talent you only see once in a lifetime. These two phenomenons aren't only loved and respected for their craft, but also the positive impact they make to protect the earth and all of humanity. They have gracefully taken over the business and they are just getting started. Please help me in welcoming our guests for tonight, as if further introduction is needed, the people's sweetheart, Miss Y/N Y/L/N and the one and only, Mister Michael Jackson." She held her smile as the camera fanned out, Y/N and Michael now on screen.

"Thank you for having us Leslie." Michael spoke up for the both of them.

"Thank you both for making this production what it is. I must add that 100% of the proceeds for tonights event are being graciously donated to the charities of our guests choosing." The entire crew behind the cameras began cheering. Michael smiled, covering his face slightly at the scene in front of him. Y/N, reached over holding his hand, smiling ear to ear as she admired him. She helped calm his nerves and soon enough he wasn’t shielding his smile.

"Let's get started!" Leslie clapped. "I'll start with a question for Michael, you've been in this industry since you were five years old, there is so much pressure in your chosen profession, with the mass hysteria that follows, how do you preserve who you are and remain so humble?"

"That's a great question." He spoke softly, shifting in his seat, then continuing. "My upbringing plays an important role in that, my values and morals were something instilled in me at a very young age. As I’ve grown up in this industry, as you pointed out, I witnessed many great artists and their careers. I knew early on what I wanted to do and how I wanted to accomplish it, so watching those that came before me helped to navigate through tough times. It's a difficult lifestyle, but I remind myself daily how thankful I am for the gifts god has blessed me with and the opportunities he's allowed me to experience. Also, it helps to surround yourself with beautiful people who you admire and who help you grow in ways that you never imagined possible. I'm very blessed." A visible warmth took over his cheeks as he very bluntly referred to his girlfriend sitting next to him.

"Lovely, it's amazing to see how you handle everything thrown at you. It's clear that you have a beautiful heart and being in your presence it's overwhelming because of how genuine you are. It's difficult to wrap our minds around it, because you don't let the fame get to your head. It's admirable. I would like to know, Y/N, how you feel, is there anything you would like to add?"

"Michael is one of a kind. All his talent aside, Michael the person is so incredibly caring, hysterical, gentle and thoughtful. I feel that's why people fall in love with him. They hear his music, they see him perform and it's so magical that you want to know how it came to be, you want to understand the real person on a deeper level. When you dig deeper you find this soft-spoken, intelligent, compassionate and crazy handsome man. To fall in love with him is inevitable." As Y/N spoke, Michael watched her intently. He worshipped her, the love struck look on his face and you just knew, you could feel him falling more in love with her with each passing second.

"That sounds like you're speaking from experience." Leslie joked. "Y/N, you made your acting debut as a toddler, though you didn't have many speaking lines in your first film, you managed to capture the hearts of people all around the world. My question is, how have you managed to gracefully grow into the young woman before us today and still have a firm hold on our hearts?"

"My guess is as good as yours." She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear. "l'd say, I did my best with every opportunity I was blessed with. Although it was difficult at times, I focused on protecting who I was and who I wanted to be away from the spotlight. I was lucky enough to be surrounded by a team that protected my privacy to the best of their abilities. This helped me to have the most normal of a childhood I could, but unfortunately, I still missed out on a lot. I shared most of my life, whether I wanted to or was forced to, the media can be very invasive at times. However, I've tried to make the best out of every situation, so I think that's something that people related to and also, many people feel as though they've grown up with me."

“Yes, I can't imagine how difficult it must’ve been to deal with grown men chasing you around with cameras at such a young age." Leslie responded with a hint of a frown as she processed Y/N’s explanation.

"Now, it's just me she has to deal with." Michael surprisingly perked up, making camera noises with his mouth and holding an imaginary camera. Y/N laughed uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking as she held her stomach. Michael sat up straighter than before with a triumphant grin on his face, proud of himself for making her laugh.

"She has the best laugh, doesn’t she?" Michael gushed, watching adoringly as Y/N tried to compose herself.

"That she does." Leslie smirked, enjoying watching Michael become more comfortable. "This next question is for both of you. You're two of the most recognizable faces in the world, everyone is curious, how you manage to go out and have a peaceful day or night out on the town?"

"It's definitely a challenge. There is definitely intense planning that goes into anything we do. Thankfully, we both have incredible security teams, so they join forces for us when we want to get out and explore together." Y/N responded quickly.

"We've accepted that if were out in public we will never truly be alone. Privacy is out of the question, which we've made our peace with. We don't mind meeting fans, conversing with locals, that’s not a problem. They are always very kind and respectful. Paparazzi on the other hand are a different story. They add a layer of uncertainty in the air and they can be very aggressive. If they just calmed down and gave us a bit of personal space we could all coexist peacefully." Michael added.

"I'm glad you brought that up Michael, you gave me the perfect segue to my next question. It's well known that photographers and paparazzi can become very intense when trying to capture a shot. Y/N, there was an incident last month when you attended the Grammy Awards with Michael. There was a massive commotion that took place on the red carpet. Many theories have been circulating the media, which purposely paint the two of you in a negative light. I feel that due to the nature of the issue you two should get the opportunity to tell your side of the story. The truth. Would one or both of you like to answer this and set the record straight?"

Y/N appeared to grow more nervous as the question left Leslie’s mouth. She tucked her hair behind her ear and shifted her gaze over to Michael, who was already looking back at her.

"Leslie, there are people that push boundaries that simply shouldn’t be pushed." Michael began, shaking his head softly, enveloping Y/N's hand in both of his. "That night, there were a few photographers that were screaming louder than the others, really nasty things, specifically towards my lady. We did our best to drown that out until it became physical. Y/N endured bruises down her arm and back from being aggressively grabbed at, so I had no choice but to step in. On top of that, they attempted to photograph up her dress, which is just despicable. I did what needed to be done to keep her safe. I will not apologize for that."

"It was a terrifying experience, the backlash that followed was so unexpected and hurtful." Y/N's demeanor growing more guarded as she thought of how to answer. "I never thought something like that could happen. Michael did get into a bit of a physical altercation, which has been completely taken out of context as well. Although he was very upset he still attempted to diffuse the situation using his words, but he wasn’t given much of a choice. In the end, he protected me and I'm lucky he was there." Michael followed every motion of her lips intently with a small smirk on his lips.

“Michael, I have to say what we’re all thinking, who knew you had such a mean right hook.” Leslie chuckled. "Thank you for such honest words. I empathize deeply with what you were subjected to. I’m glad you have such an amazing partner. You two complement each other beautifully. I just have to ask, everyone is curious, since Michael is in the music industry and Y/N is in the film industry, how did the two of you meet?"

“Well, this man is sneaky let me tell you.” The smile on Y/N’s face, squeezing her eyes nearly shut. “So, Michael had his people contact mine to plan a meeting of some sort. He insisted he wanted me in a music video—”

“Babe, you’re forgetting a very important detail. We had met at the Oscars the night before and she basically asked me on a date—”

“Oh, you are exaggerating!”

“You said, and I quote, ‘I can’t wait to see you again.’ with a very flirtatious wink.” Michael reasoned, shifting in his seat to face her.

“You showered me with compliments Mr. Jackson. Within five minutes of meeting one another he told me it wasn’t until he met me that he believed in love.”

“And I was telling the truth.”

“And I was flirting.” She winked at him, causing his face to turn a bright shade of red.

“I guess it’s safe to say there was a mutual interest between the two of you. Will we ever see Y/N star in one of your music videos?”

“You know it’s something I’d love to create. I mean she has inspired a lot of my writing process these days. It seems fitting that my muse be in a video or two or three..” Michael’s voice becoming more playful as he tried to conceal his smirk.

“Y/N, how do you feel hearing you’re his muse? Would you be interested in starring alongside Michael in a film?” Leslie questioned, keeping the conversation moving.

“I’m flattered. It’s very flattering.” Y/N’s hand pressed against her cheek as she tried not to giggle uncontrollably. Michael licked his lips as he watched the effect his words had on her. “He’s so sweet. I’m a fan of everything Michael creates. Honestly, his voice is hands down my favorite sound. You know, to make a film together would be awesome. I would love that! I think Michael would do a phenomenal job.”

“You’ve been together for quite some time. I’m sure you’ve had some lovely adventures with one another. Are there any special memories you’re comfortable sharing with us? And, is there anything you look forward to experiencing together that you haven’t yet?”

“First vacation together?” Michael raised his eyebrow at Y/N.

“Michael invited me to accompany him in Italy.” Y/N had this sparkle in her as she looked back at Michael. It was like they were the only two people in the room.

“Italy? Wow. Michael, you brought out the big guns.” Leslie laughed.

“Oh yes. I was on tour at the time and thankfully I had scheduled days off in between each concert, so it worked out perfectly.”

“That was the first time I saw him on stage.” Y/N gushed.

“How was it to see Michael in action? What is the most memorable thing?”

“He’s magic. There’s no other way to describe it. I always tease him about it because he makes it seem like he’s just going for a walk. Performing comes so natural to him. He said, ‘I have to go do something.’ Kissed me on the cheek then went on stage in front of hundreds of thousands of people. He was so nonchalant about it. It’s a sweet unpretentious kind of confidence.” Y/N giggled, reaching over to tuck Michael’s curl behind his ear, which he playfully rolled his eyes at.

“I was trying to impress her. When she arrived at the stadium, I was reminded just how out of my league this woman is—”

“Oh stop!” Y/N poked his side, causing him to let out a deep laugh. “You were very intimidating to meet Mr. Jackson.”

“So were you dear.” He brought her hand to meet his lips. “So were you.”

“Bubbles watched me like a hawk! That boy would squeeze in between us if we sat next to one another. He was difficult to win over.”

“He loves you now.”

“Yes. At the end of our first date, Michael walked me back to my room and as we were about to kiss goodnight, I was launched into the pool. Bubbles’ and I have been inseparable since.”

“That was just his way of welcoming you to the family.” Michael shrugged, biting his lip hard to keep from hollering. “It’s like an initiation.”

“Initiation?” Y/N’s tone was enough to make Michael lose it. His signature fedora nearly fell off his head as his laughter filled the air.

“You are his favorite now. Y/N comes over and he’s glued to her hip. He pushes me away now.”

“He threw an entire cake at Michael the other day.” She buried her face in her hands as her shoulders began bouncing rhythmically.

“Yes! The candles were lit too.”

“What happened? Why did he throw the cake at you?” Leslie asked between laughs.

“It was Y/N’s birthday. We had finished singing to her and I leaned in for a kiss which he absolutely lost his mind over.” Michael explained, “Fortunately, most of the candles blew out as the cake flew through the air, but one did burn a hole in my coat.”

“I didn’t know Bubbles had such great aim.” Leslie spoke in shock.

“Bubbles’ is very passionate.” Michael’s face was serious “He’ll yell at me if I’m stealing too much of Y/N’s attention.”

“Aw, he’s not that bad.” Y/N tried to reason.

“He’s not bad. He just bullies me sometimes.” Michael fake pouted and crossed his arms. His beloved leaned her head on his shoulder, trying to comfort him although she couldn’t help giggling just a little bit.

“Oh no!” Leslie exclaimed. “It sounds like you’ve got competition. Speaking of kisses, Michael, every picture I see of the two of you, you’ve got your lips on Y/N. You are usually very reserved, what is it about Y/N that brings out that side of you?”

“I’m comfortable when I’m with her. I’m able to be myself. Also, nothing will stop me from showing my lady some love.” Michael pulled Y/N closer, gently placing his finger on her chin turning her head to face him.

The kiss was short and sweet.

Michael was very deliberate when it involved Y/N. He never wanted her to doubt his love for her. He knew how he wanted to make her feel. Then, did whatever it took to accomplish just that. The look in Y/N eyes said it all, Michael never missed.

“I have to ask, as we begin to wrap things up. Michael, Y/N, where do you see yourselves in five years? Are there any goals you have as a couple or as individuals you’d like to share?” The brunette spoke, flipping her page over quietly.

“Together? We will definitely be married and have at least a dozen little ones running around Neverland.” Michael answered quickly, his tone very matter of fact as if we should’ve known that already.

“Bubbles’ does need siblings.” Y/N added with a smile.

“How would you two juggle family responsibilities and your careers?” Leslie asked carefully.

“Well, I think we’d figure it out along the way. The most important thing to us would be raising our babies. We didn’t have much of a childhood ourselves, so we’d be very hands on in order to give them everything we didn’t have. When it comes to our careers, if Michael is touring we’d join him on the road, if I’m filming on location they’d come along. It just depends. Maybe one of or both of us would want to be stay at home parents. At the end of the day, what’s best for our children is the number one priority.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself lovely.” Michael complimented her, practically gawking at her, clearly loving that they were on the same page about their shared future.

The interview came to a close shortly after. Michael and Y/N went around the studio the same way they did when they first arrived. They had intended to say their goodbyes, but enjoyed everyone’s company too much to leave just yet. They posed for photographs and signed every item sent their way with a smile on their face. What should’ve been just a few hours turned into a daylong event. The couple stayed for a little celebration party and treated the crew to a lovely dinner.

Three months later, Michael and Y/N were the headlines of every publication. Their faces were on every television channel. The media was in a state of hysteria that has never been seen before. It turns out that the couple was husband and wife. They had gotten married and managed to keep it secret for a whole year, but that wasn’t the only surprise.

The Jackson’s were expecting their first child together.

Y/N was about five months along.

The pair was thrilled about starting their family.

The craziest part of the whole story was a detail that the media would never know. Three months earlier, Michael and Y/N shared their news with everyone present in the studio that day. They felt comfortable enough to trust us with such a precious moment in their lives. Since then, the couple enjoyed a somewhat quiet three months without anyone spoiling their announcement or betraying their trust.

We didn’t just make history that night we formed a bond, an incredible friendship that would last a lifetime.

[flemingsfreckles]

Dress

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Synopsis: inspired off the song Dress by Taylor Swift (normally not a big TS fan but this song gives off such gay/secret relationship vibes)

Warnings: suggestive, language

WC: 2.3k

A/N: pretend Jessie is still at Chelsea for the sake of this 🙃 also ignore Niamh in the photo, there’s like only 2 photos of Jessie in that button up outfit and I’ve used the other one already, despite the fact that yall want a Niamh x Jessie x Reader fic, this is not it.

Your eyes scanned the room filled with your teammates in search of the brown hair and brown eyed Canadian you were trying to find and yet trying to avoid coming into direct contact with.

In your second scan of the crowded room, you find her across the way, speaking with some of your other teammates.

You watch as Jessie’s eyes catch yours, before they widen and trail downward, taking in your whole body. As her eyes admire you, you watch her suck in a large breath, her eyebrows raised, cheeks puffed out as she slowly releases the air in her lungs. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. She gives you a small and slow nod when her eyes meet yours again.

You had succeeded.

You knew she wanted you to rush over to her, to say hello, give her a hug, whisper something for just the two of you in her ear, so you did the opposite.

You found Millie first, giving her a hug, she gushed over your dress. You chatted with her for a bit, glancing around the room occasionally, noticing Jessie’s eyes always meeting yours. She was watching you intensely, just what you had hoped.

You were quickly interrupted by Guro, Erin, and Sam all making their way over, drinks in their hands. The three greeted you, all making comments that they were shocked by your dress, in a good way of course. It felt weird having your teammates gush over your appearance, you had been dressed up around them before but usually opted for a blazer, pantsuit, never before a dress.

Wanting to tease Jessie more, you continue making your rounds, avoiding the area of the room where she and Niamh stood. You took the occasional glance in their direction, Jessie’s eyes always looking over Niamh's shoulder and at you. You felt like prey being hunted by her intense gaze. You talk with Aggie and Maika, a couple of the assistant coaches, dragging out the conversations, keeping Jessie waiting for you. When you had finally said hello to everyone that had already arrived except Jessie, you decided it was time to put the poor girl out of her misery.

You finally make your way over to Jessie. She’s staring you down as you approach her, her eyes locked on your body.

“Hi Jess.” You lean in giving her a hug and she gives you a peck on the cheek. It’s casual, quick, and boring to the outside world. But the way you slid your hand down to the small of her back and the way she let her lips linger on your cheek for an extra second, was not casual.

When you pulled away from her you kept your hand on the small of her back, turning so the two of you were shoulder to shoulder as if you were standing before a game for the anthems.

“You look,” she lets out a sigh that tells you everything you needed to know, “you look fantastic.”

“Thanks. Actually funny enough, I was told if I always dressed like this, maybe I wouldn’t be single.” You say it as a joke, Jessie doesn’t take it as one.

“You’re not single.” The Canadian leans in to grumble into your ear, clearly not a fan of the thought of you being available.

“Oh I’m not? I don’t recall anyone asking me to be in a relationship.” You pat her back softly, letting your fingers just barely dance into the waistband of her pants.

You and Jessie had been seeing each other as more than friends for a couple weeks now. It had started as innocent coffee trips, those trips quickly became more formal coffee dates, those dates turned into spending the afternoons and evenings at each others places, which led to just three weeks ago, you straddling the Canadian on her couch, your fingers in her hair and her hands around your waist as the two of you kissed for the first time. You hadn’t yet put any form of label on it, but you continued seeing each other, the romantic and sexual tension very much still alive between the two of you.

“I don’t like how they’re staring.” You can feel the jealousy radiating off of Jessie. She’s looking out across the room to all your teammates. It was weird, the new attention you were getting. You knew none of your teammates meant it in a way of making you uncomfortable and you knew that, it was just different seeing them surprised by your outfit.

“No need to be jealous, Fleming.” You say to her before leaning in close again to whisper in her ear as she takes a sip of the beer in her hand. “Just remember I bought this dress thinking about only you taking it off my body tonight.” That gets Jessie’s attention, her eyes widen and she’s sent into a coughing fit choking on her drink. Your comment is said half as an invitation, half as a statement. The two of you had made out plenty in your three week escapades, but not getting any further than you did only four days ago in her apartment after training.

You had been making out against the hallway of her apartment when Jessie had picked you up, your legs around her waist as she carried you into her bedroom. She had quickly discarded your training top, kissing down your neck before removing your bra and starting to harshly suck dark red marks across your chest. You had removed her shirt and just as she leaned down to trail kisses down your stomach her phone rang. A FaceTime call from her sister. She had apologized profusely as she threw your shirt back to you as she donned her own. You weren’t upset, you had been the one who insisted she answer the call. However the interaction left you incredibly sexually frustrated for the next few days, giving you the brilliant idea of the dress.

You were already in need of an outfit for the banquet, leading you to be wandering around the store. You had texted Fran, Niamh, and a few other teammates to see what they were wearing. You walked in circles looking at jackets and pants, shirts, nothing seemed to pull your interest until you found yourself in the gown and dress section. The black dress you had bought was on display, it caught your eye. It was a tight, yet tasteful black dress, more than appropriate for the occasion and yet perfect to make Jessie have the opposite of appropriate thought.

Sneaking around with her had been fun, the quick glances in the locker room, the extra second you two spent looking at each other after Jessie had ended up with her body pressed on top of you after you tackled her a little too hard at training, the way she’d give your hand an extra squeeze when you’d high-five after games, all the subtle moments of your relationship happening right in front of everyone’s eyes, without anyone knowing at all.

Those red marks she had made on your skin the other day were now golden bruises across your chest, an arousing reminder of your evening when you got dressed this afternoon. You were thankful they weren’t visible in the lower cut neckline of the dress. You took one last look in the mirror before you left to come to the banquet. You couldn’t help but smirk at yourself, you wanted to drive Jessie crazy, make her stare, make her blush, make her squirm in her seat while she tried to keep your teammates oblivious to your situationship, this dress was going to be perfect for that job.

“We should go mingle.” You say, dropping your hand from Jessie’s back, a few more members of the staff had arrived, you wanted to say hello. Jessie just lets out a dissatisfied grumble. “I’ll see you in a bit.” You say to her as you walk away. You only get a few steps before you turn back, delighted by the sight. Jessie’s eyes had been fixated on your ass, she only looked away when she noticed you turned around catching her behavior. Her face flushed slightly and you gave her a quick wink before turning and moving to the other side of the room.

The seating at dinner was beyond your control but whoever was in charge of it did you a huge favor, sitting you right next to Jessie. You wander around looking for your name, finding it on the little place card, you take a lap looking at the rest of the names on the table before you come back reading the final name on the table for the seat to your left. You almost let out a laugh as you read Jessie’s name. This would be fun.

Dinner starts innocently enough. Plenty of conversation to keep both you and Jessie thinking about other things than the tension between you. It’s only once everyone starts eating, conversation slows and it becomes increasingly obvious how close you’re sat to her.

As you finish up your meal and speeches begin to start, you feel a weight on your lap. Jessie’s hand, under the tablecloth, resting on your upper thigh. She gently squeezes and you’re thankful that no one is seated directly behind your table, meaning no one sees how you move your leg outward to encourage her touch.

You let her touch your thigh, rubbing your skin through the dress for a couple minutes before you promptly stand up, excusing yourself to the table, saying you had to use the restroom and you’d be back. As you walk away you can’t help but turn back giving a look at Jessie, whose eyes were again watching you walk away.

You head to the bathroom, half because you had to use it and half because you wanted to see if Jessie would follow. You get your answer when you open the door from the stall to go wash your hands and Jessie is standing, arms crossed leaning against the wall. You take a moment to take in her stature, you had been so focused on her reaction to your own dress that you didn’t fully appreciate her appearance yet. She looked good, her dark dress pants tight in all the right places, her blazer hugging her shoulders, even if she didn’t intend it, her outfit was having an effect on you.

“You’re a tease.” She says, watching you again like prey as you walk over to the sink.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” You say, putting soap on your hands. “I’m not doing anything.” You give her an innocent smile through the mirror.

Sick of your behavior Jessie comes up behind you, her front flush to your back, pushing you slightly into the countertop. Her hands find your sides, just under your armpits. “You did this.” She lets her hands run down your sides and over the curve of your hips. “You chose this dress, you chose to tell me that you want me to take it off, you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“And it’s working?” You give her a cocky smile as you move away from her grasp to dry your hands and turn the water off.

“God, yes it’s working, you already get me worked up in regular clothes, but then this dress…” her voice trails off as she again takes the time to look over your body, head to toe, appreciating your dress. She bites her lip momentarily, walking up to you again. She leans into you, putting her lips quickly to your neck, giving you a soft kiss, then another just below your ear before she brings her lips to your ear and whispers. “You're driving me insane. I wish I had just ignored the call and fucked you instead the other day.”

You hum in agreement, you also wished she had just fucked you then and there. “But this is more fun.” You give her a raise of your eyebrows.

“You’re coming home with me.” She says as she leans back from you, still only inches from each other.

“I will, if you can be good the rest of the night.” You were going to give in and let her take you home no matter what, but you wanted to keep your evening of teasing and fun going for a little bit longer.

“I’ve been good!” She protests.

“I dunno Jessie, hand under the table isn’t what I would consider behaving.” You let your own hand drag on her thigh, mimicking her touch from earlier. You can feel her push her thigh into your hand desperately.

“I could’ve done worse.”

Returning her teasing from earlier you lean into her now, placing an open mouth kiss to her neck before whispering into her ear. “Behave for the rest of the night and I’ll let you do your worst to me later.”

You watch Jessie’s mouth fall open slightly as you pull back. Her stare intensifies on you, pupils wide. Knowing she was lost in her own dirty thoughts you take the opportunity to step away from her and open the bathroom door.

You turn back to look at Jessie, her mouth still agape, eyes locked on you. “Come on, only a few more hours of this banquet and then you can make those dirty thoughts you just had about me a reality.”

[aretis]

Happy new year to all of you 🎅🏻🎄🎊💫

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 31: Your Song

Word Count: 999

Rating: G

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

CW: None

Summary: Part of my As You Wish universe! Ryan performs a very special song with some very special guests in the middle school talent show.

@corrodedcoffinfest

[As You Wish masterlist]

The murmur of the audience greets you and your husband as he yanks open the door to the middle school auditorium. You step in first, Eddie right behind you as you walk down the aisle, closer to the stage. 

“Oh, there’s Steve,” Eddie points out, gesturing to where the man is seated with his wife. You give them a small wave and Steve returns the gesture with his camcorder in his hand. “He said he’ll make a copy of the tape for us,” Eddie adds. 

“What’s Natalie doing?” you ask as you scan the rows of seats for two free ones.

“Uh, dancing, I think.”

There’s a pair of seats available in the middle of the eighth row and you and Eddie gladly take them. As your husband shucks out of his leather jacket and gets comfortable in his seat, he notices your fingers twisting together in your lap. He reaches over and softly rests one of his larger hands over both of yours. 

“Everything is fine. Wayne can handle both of them,” Eddie reminds you in a calm voice.

“I-I know,” you say, voice catching because of your damn fluctuating hormones. 

Tonight is the first night you and Eddie have been out together since Eliza was born. She’s three months old now and, like Eddie said, there’s not a doubt in your mind that Wayne can handle both her and Luke. But knowing this is the first time Eliza is without either parent is hard. 

Taking a deep breath, you nod your head and try to sink comfortably into your seat. 

“Were you ever able to get out of Ryan what his act is tonight?” you ask, if for no other reason than to try and keep your mind occupied. 

“Nope,” Eddie says. “Just said that we’ll see, and that Steve was driving him here early so he could practice.”

There isn’t a chance for you to respond because the lights in the auditorium dim and a woman dressed in a brown pantsuit walks on stage. 

“Hello! And welcome to Hawkins Middle School’s 2004 Winter Showcase Talent Show!” the woman says. “I’m Principal Abernathy and we are delighted to have all of you here with us tonight to see what these talented students have prepared.”

After watching students juggle, jump rope, do karate, and perform bird calls, a familiar name is called.

“Please welcome Natalie Harrington, Eve Sawyer, Catherine Click, and Maria Armas.”

An enthusiastic “Woo!” comes from the other side of the auditorium and you chuckle under your breath at Steve’s excitement. 

The lights come up and there’s Natalie on stage, along with three friends. 

Hey now

Hey now

The girls start slowly, striking different poses as the opening words repeat. 

Have you ever seen such a beautiful night 

I could almost kiss the stars for shining so bright

The girls are surprisingly good. You can’t take your eyes off of Natalie. 

The audience applauds as the routine ends and you glance over at your husband to see the same proud gleam in his eye that you know you must also have.

Three more acts go by before the moment you and Eddie have been waiting for arrives. 

“Up next is Ryan Munson,” Principal Abernathy announces. “With a little help from some special guests.”

You and Eddie turn to one another, confused. The maroon curtain moving onstage catches your eye and you both look back to where Ryan has stepped out. 

Nerves are written plain as day across your son’s face. 

Eddie notices a particular detail before you do, and his snicker has you looking over at him quickly.

“What?” you whisper.

“He’s wearing one of my old coveralls from the garage,” Eddie says, nodding to the twelve-year-old.

And sure enough, a navy jumpsuit that’s obviously been tailored to fit the smaller boy is Ryan’s costume of choice for the show. 

From behind his back, Ryan brings out a microphone and shakily holds it up to his mouth. 

“One, two…” he says softly. 

On his count, the curtains part and a very familiar melody begins to fill the auditorium. Both you and your husband have to do a double take when the curtain is finally open and the three members of Corroded Coffin are up on stage, backing Ryan up. 

Gareth is upstage with his drum set, and Jeff and Frank are both strumming their respective instruments. Ryan looks over his shoulder and you notice Gareth give him a wink. That’s just the courage Ryan needed, evidently, to begin singing.

Uptown girl

She's been living in her uptown world

I bet she's never had a backstreet guy

I bet her mama never told her why.

Your postpartum hormones instantly flood your eyes with tears. A hand comes up to cover your mouth as the influx of tears begin cascading down your face. Eddie’s strong, warm hand winds its way into your free one and you hold on to it like a lifeline. 

Ryan knows this is your and Eddie’s song. He knows how much it means to you. And he chose to perform it in the talent show. Somehow, he even managed to keep it a surprise until now! The Corroded Coffin guys are the sprinkles on this already sentimental sundae. 

Emotions overwhelm you, and Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulders as the song finishes up. 

My uptown girl

Your hands hurt from the enthusiasm you put behind applauding. 

Your oldest son takes a bow as the crowd cheers for him. He’s beaming—a triumphant look on his face as if he can’t believe he really just did that. 

Microphone in hand, blue coveralls, and an adorable, dimpled grin. It’s like you’re looking at a miniature Eddie up on that stage. Pride beams out of your every pore and one glance at your husband, and you know it’s the same for him. Eddie actually wipes at his eyes before turning his head to face you. He grins and licks his lips before speaking.

“That’s our boy.”